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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