on a hundred nights of love
ruin running over with young blood
dugouts shining with suds of chemical death
been bronzed in the alleyway toaster
years in coma have been secretly meaningful
drawers open in the twilight
wasted treasures pop out in bunches
the fountain swallows its vibrations
and the clay eels cool on a dusty step
androids in artificial shadows
the grand steel has a grim reputation
and mounds of sand stand in time
ravaged only in imagination
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