Fragments.
An incandescent speck of light.
Sound, noise, the faded symmetries
of the downed hieroglyph,
another marriage on the rocks.
Forced entry. Doomsday prophets.
How obscene is the hench thug?
Open your eyes to a new summer.
Drink a little, let down your hair,
have an open conversation with the
water lilies about procreation, or
sing a sad tune about
the closing of another year.
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