These ardors paddle

with streamers.

Horrors, silver and dark.

A slow down

for every sound.

Where shimmers

play in winds

crossing violet peaks.

Wild and dredge

from any edge —

feeds the birds

airs the dead

climbing up inside my head.

Wavers wills and weeps.

Finders stay for minders

delusions play for keeps.


One response to “Mobius Meeks”

  1. wigs and digs

    Relative to thinness on the ground.

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