powdered by exploding motors
me and my girl's guitar
waiting in an artist's loft
for her to return through ferns and highways
perched on the dreaming saucer's edge
as it flies above moaning trees
the river's rope of brains
heading for a brick nest.
Scriptures tabled by a steaming window
the strings of lamps in copper chorus
all the glue of one solution's wound.
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