amalgamating faces dripping eyes into your mind
the sighs of dead whistles and lost paradigms
inside all of these wonders are dreams that we fed
to outsider imagery amongst smokey grey bricks
when summertime comes we'll take off our coats
drag out our feces and fertilize with it and grow
into the dark canyons and things we must be
paralyzed demons in syncopated luminosity
hope is a void and we must fill it with the joy
of the choices we made, the words that we say
in microcosms' hope, loss and unwanted desire
missing the point clarified in broken tongue
opposable thumbs that work for and against
the stakes have been driven, the claims that we've staked
i am the particle, the participle and the clause
actively passive within painted white walls
noises make it sound like it was never here
reaching hands grab it and then disappear
posturing poets with nothing to say
they make funny faces and run away
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