in their temporal order
plucking at the way I lay my bed
stains of the dome sky
spreading kaleidoscope horizons
a creamy toilet bowl
racks of a breathing fridge
a corridor of pale light
turning for machinery of salt
the wounds of time in a silk stocking
gnashing with the mouths
that brought them there
a paint bucket
tongues of oceans lost
in a racing circle
cliffs of raging chalk
that powder clouds
a lip of smiles.
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