the prerecorded rainstorm's
crashing hallways behind other rooms
where the real tight spiritual machinery
churns the light into glowing taffy.
After all my lives have fallen apart, after all
my twisted attempts to be human have failed,
I come to this cave that bisects time
watching shit-streaked wings flow out of me
to shudder in their improvised bones,
making sure the center is always
in the wrong place, colors
empty of form for glory
scaffolds mounting over makeshift suns.
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