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Jun 2016
through  the mirror a light-forsaken  world

     in a used    leather jacket, the  packed  scent of   cigarette
exacts   itself   in  the  calendar,

     hung     on  the  wall  it  discloses  a shadow compressing

an  answer    as   in  

   where     once  to  feel  gliding  into the  air  a figure on the ground
       is   song        of   color – that  it is the   truest  manuscript
   whenever   I    yield    into

             the inseparable  gesture   of   foolishness  as    entering

a  scene     and  coming

     back   only  to  be  an   uninterrupted   furniture   fixed  in the  finest  day.
Windsor I Guadalupe Jr
Written by
Windsor I Guadalupe Jr  Bulacan
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