the minnows of a river's swampy blood.
Born in a pillowcase with
laser tipped eyes,
tied between cloth worlds
into an unseen neon pretzel.
Fished out of a low hanging cloud
with newsprint skin, dragging
the chatter of tinfoil ribbons,
plumes riding under a copper mask.
In the aisles abandoned
to cracked music,
on the wax highways
there's nobody within
the solitude that has no name,
there is a tag with glowing erasure
flying from the flag that's gone.
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