We are all warped. The fabric is listening.
Storms are in aquarium tanks tonight.
The moonlit ground is bright
as a rainless cloud.
The tree lined paths by the river's edge
host naked ghosts.
A blade swims like a drone
in these sleepy currents.
Shrines of waxen salt rock
epiphanies meeting steel
altar's cradle a pool of eggs
all speckled with the sunlight's dregs.
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