on the chemical shelf
penetrating softly in a spiral staircase
orbs of thoughtful movement
in a parking garage
were left on the back brain burner
for glowing streets of lint
to be landed on in mothlike tandem
our antennas intertwined
and sending letters in powder
boxes of light gashed fingernail movies
I'm stuck on the ceiling
with these drone machines
trying to drop kitten style on your desk
watching the cardboard craters
that turn around the blood of your head
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