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The town of the grateful yet,
soon to be dead,
receive one last glance of the universe.
The radiant truth stills voices
and tranquilizes breath.
Eleven fireballs illuminate the moondust sky.

The grim sapphire hills wicket the town.
Is this the way to heaven?
This is the way to the stars.
The black tree's hair is a moussed flame,
a pin-point on the absent map.
An imaginary itinerary to starry night.

The orange crescent moon sings
lullabies to a silent town,
trapped in Bardo.
As the wailing spirit of death
slurps the brilliance from the stars.

Eleven stars, eleven souls.
Soothed gratefully to death
on a starry night.
when i met you
clocks stopped.
infinity relapsed
like dragon tales in 2002.
wave caps bury blurry nights.
we resurrected with the tide.
mother nature created two constellations
that puzzled,
purposefully together.
i always felt like a choice.
i never felt like an option.
suppose you stop listening to your mother

you could say ******* to curfew.
suppose you tripped on shrooms
you would feel colors bloom.
suppose you birthed eggshells
the coop would have a new chicken.
suppose you read a book
you might learn some valuable ****.
suppose the sinners went to church
they could drink Jesus's blood for free.
the old woman
scrambles an egg,
the man at the corner
fries his brain.
full moon,
college kids **** kegs,
wallflowers paint
red ocean baptisms.
the moment we are born
we are dying.
mortality forcing metamorphosis.
a road-trip of adolescence.
slipping into cali oceans,
baptizing bodies in
*** and drugs.
aren't we all sinners?
the bed creeks with
sounds of passion,
gasps of breath.
zippers unzip, shirts are peeled
off skin, like bananas.
a monkeys favorite treat.
lips meet neck.
tongues weave through organs.
the pulsing addiction for the
forbidden fruit.
the garden of Eden is now swirls of
vanilla and caramel,
intertwining fingers
between passes of a j.
time feeds the day with
sunshine and fear.
while sinners accept mortality.
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