This thing has got to
blow over
my sulking skull
is haphazardly
skipping the fault lines
nonsense
nerve decay
nonsensical humming of
the drill bit of the brain
of the maw out there @
the corner
of what galaxy?
one we know isn't there
lights are out light years gone,
our no-savior--no linear thought--
last page survivor
cowering in squat
brown wrinkles
why are the stars pink,
like the alter caught
in tornado winds?
Blowing through
through jubilant
celebration
concerning stares
marked us all on wrists
of gold
we listen & work for
legitimacy, waiting for
the storm to blow over
they say on average it takes
about 75 years.
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