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The fireflies are busy becoming a microcosmic
sky against a dark wall of trees
as if the air never sickened here
snug vapors gently electroshock
my spine in a tower that time won't eat
staining the eye from which it pours
grey white sun in a realm
where ignition leaves no ash
blankets are abandoned under soaring lights
the fireflies are making a tent
of silently unstable fibers
plant lives that wage war
against a tablature of wet cells
a chessboard oiled and empty
a galaxy aching through charts to eat the boardroom