Bolted junkyard
and the absenteeism
flits me winding up..
Counting the preumbra of pigeons
on those marmalade hue of maudlin chillness..
As it commixes up onto wafting airborne:
drifting over the scattered cumulonimbus.
Far flocking flappers .
80° collateral to peeking atomic number 10.
Oh Fucking crystalline form of pure carbon..
All mighty massif .
All parallel to 180°.
99 sometimes .
69 and 36 degree.
minus the 13, it sways…
the oscillating stripes.
And the vivid blazing heap of splitting cottonballs ..
metamorphosing into some voddoo like
Magical. magnetic. amethyst horizon
Devouring the fading dodger wide blue .
Then restoration again.
The alter coequal to dreary cawing
And these paranoiac utterance…
The phantasm.
The illusion..
skidding off-track the reality.
Detaining every grasp of it.


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