On the brink of
distance and existence,
car horns and the cries of chidren
whir up towards me on the
winds untiring saxophone.
And there's the gap between the two,
so wide it wraps itself around
the waist of the universe.
I peer down to see God's hand
slip through the sleeve of his voluminous cloak
and streak the shattered glass sky
to turn their muddled faces upwards
so I can see the stars in their eyes.
Though time beats like a fatalistic drum,
and we drift in and out of rooms
with smells of dust and eau du cologne,
we all drench ourselves in the spacious
white parlor of the world.















Comments
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...I love you, Fuck Face!
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