Oldest runways.

Her scorched skin placed into reels 

Loading jackets on chrome of those 

That turned on painted ember heels 

of the oldest well worn riveted runway.

The clouded sign above a world that’s

Never been so clear.

———–

even when standing by Lustrous marbles

The unbaked and barest life of worn dresses 

Lost On the bite of the wind.

———

The clouded sign above a world that’s 

Never been so clear.

———

Books laying open in beds of woven wicker 

As money is spread on being reborn kings

As tinsel trees walk through the door.

———-
The clouded sign above a world that’s 

Never been so clear.

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