Bird call sets broken glass ablaze. All things in a world depth-less.
They’d swap hats around to confuse their own thoughts, to become senseless among sensations
of cool vegetation on hot afternoons.
The narrow lanes. The twists of lanes into bright darknesses,
crossing the sea on stilts to trumpet music. All dressed up in naked ruffs marvelling
at night sounds & sugared flies.
A pair of carpet slippers, how did they get here? Silence of
traffic continuous, retrospective. Each pretty gift was discarded in rage; they’d
summon tempests to bruise the heads of faithful lovers.
Wilderness, edged out as far as could be. Drunkenly
shimmering cultivation. All at once & all as one they knew they could fly
& did.
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