where the guardrails
are chains of gold
where the eye-holes
in the mask of clouds
are beautifully unoccupied
my life takes place between
two blood orange bookends
rolling roads of tar
among the vines and trees
my sacred light bulbs
and laughing skulls
change color in an instant
with my dancing blood
all alien mercies
far flung rejected loves
and rings of crooked rocks
adorn my frozen whirlpool
all the feathers of plastic birds
that the sun spat out in June
are living in December's moon.
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