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Chicken Mar 9
A shiny sparkle
Cascades past my skull
In all of it's reflective glory

Just for a moment
I see a glimpse
Of the end of another story.

We have the cheek
All four of them to say
'We are but beautiful flowers'

And though blooms replicate
It is fair to say, we mankind
get far many more hours

So I dedicate this to the
Party Cannon
The DJ, and his Set

For all the accurate track ID's
and MP3's given
That I couldn't get.

For the outfits
and the stupidity
And that final surviving cassette.

To the doormen who did not
let me in, because
To reject was to protect.

To the friends who
Did not make it
Who chose too soon to change through death

Don’t think I’ll ever
Forget you
You’re also beating in my chest,


We are those shiny sparkles
That float past skulls
In all our glory

We are the moment
And we are the glimpse
Yet, we are never our story.
We never end :)
Kristaps Sep 2018
Broccoli in a white lamp shade
cast shadowy face tattoos
to mark the unjoustly.
The festival in background
is throbbing in directly contrasting sound, to the art nouveau it's sleeping with.

Each vegan burger stand vomits exquisite neon. However
the collage itself
is apologetically brown.
Theatre masks and DJs, VR and a Just Dance floor set,
a sprint before midnight, a sprint after discount ethanol;
so I gaze and perhaps ponder for a friend.

And yet when counting the heads,
I find I needn’t more than my own to hands
for the few middle-aged supermarket clerks

— The End —