Cypha be loosed
and drift fm the moutnais
like ashen morning mist
dressed cautiously in a collection
of last week's tears and volcanic spittle,
Wail in discnotent
as the rapture unearths itself
at your feet
like borrowed Burkenstocks
yet again modling to support,
the fabric of our lives.
Magnificent splendor dusts your trails
as if it were a cross between Hailey's comet
and a falling star,
a directed ascending path convex
to your daily endeavors awaits.
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