The Mushrooms Come
From moss and loam
the mushrooms come.
From bark on trees,
from crumbling logs,
From musty leaves
The mushrooms come.
From vast pale networks
underground
the shoulder up
without a sound;
They spread their damp
umbrella tops
and loose their spores
with silent pops.
Unbuttoning the forest floor,
the mushrooms come,
the mushrooms come.
Like noses pink
in the midnight air,
like giant's ears,
like elfin hair,
like ancient cities
built on cliffs,
the mushrooms come,
the mushrooms come.
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