like sandwich time.
Someone is cradling
the dagger that finished it
like a precious jewel.
Shields of water explode
all over the wounded emblems
of a perfect calibration.
Salamanders crawl
through the paint brick walls.
The searing clean curve
of planets from a distance
a face full of unruly gravel
freed from gravity's chamber
or in its maw
the bronze lights
and long glass
of meticulously departed places
their yield of dark milk
the wheels in the ceiling
of an ever-extending tent.
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