subtracted from all the hours
singing on flattened plains
emptied of all activity
do you see the statues bending
from flags and fiery air
scarred hills with nests of clay
shadowed by transparent overpass?
Will the trains start up
in your timekeeper,
will the pocked shells move?
Only the orange blaze on grey
your dove shape and smoking form
dancing in my cracked eyes
can animate the stain
of electric ages.
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