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Greg Mc Aug 2017
Time travelers of past futures gone bleak into space, time staring, reflecting voids created in order to uncreate. Surveyors of back alleyways littered with cake and angels. They shout out profanities, reflected by dry bricks and geckos clicking.

Barred windows
Crayons and baristas
Overflow cups of mirth

Apartment walls, a membrane worn thin by incessant bickering, a thick patina of noise and foot thrusts through silence. Three women escorting lesbian foresight, caroling the throes of silent *******. Three feet of water drowning friends in the night, the air thick with bleeding apologies and hitchhiking strangers, casting shadows in a vibrant, violent, purple wake.

I see you
Oregon girl
Ferocious but frail

I ask you what time it is and we both laugh at the absurdity of the chain of circumstances. Jazz concatenating with noise in a staccato sun dance. Friends and wine, red smiles and delineated eyes casting visions of tomorrow against a projected memory.

Six pair of eyes
for breathing colors
into the night

The silence deafens, then lets up- and we roar with laughter, most hearty.

— The End —