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Aug 2019
Last night the sky melted
Forever long strings of
Galactic spit and spent fumes.
And when the morning came,
(Though by then we called it grief)
We watched with tear speckled cheeks
The children splashing in sporadic
Celestial puddles
Until they were soaked and sporting
Angel wings

Come afternoon
Trees fell, hurried,
Swept into a milky current
Streets flooded
Til only ***** leather hands
Could reach above
Infinite waves
But found nothing
To hold on to

When evening fell,
Cities swallowed
In deep star oceans,
Few remained in monasteries
And cathedrals
And 4-Star hotel rooms,
And all that could be heard was
The steady drip
Of eternal pour


The more devout among us
Believed it was rapture
The more religious prayed it was not
And I myself
Plagued by that perpetual
And ineffable indecision,
Resigned to consummation
Written by
Nemo
118
   A Simillacrum
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