see the streetlight flowers
let go of the planet skin.
Ghostly vapors dancing
on a wooden glove
three stories high
stuck to a melted hill
chains of daylight and black
feathers of night gone.
Cartoon lips breathing
from the flicking of an ancient film
desk lamps ticking with tender mercy
of solitude's divine
and nameless wish alive
in long blue flame
the threads of an untouchable climb.
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