Thursday, January 16, 2014

The Water Cycle

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whirlwind parameters set on
                     one constant : flux

paraded by face montages, shifting
                     landscapes on a palette of
shifting situations. You shipped

to sea on a Greyhound
                     bus, while I beget the

homefront war on my living room
                     floor, cracking knuckles to
the slow premise of blues: you

will be amused to know that I
                    dreamt of dolphin calls and

imagined an ocean world where I
                    was (the ultimatum: live
long and forget that you

were the sky) but inevitably, I
                     rise to fill your clouds

this is the only method for juncture
                     so I wait for your rain to
fall in phone-call conversations. We

breathe eachothers' worlds only briefly,
                     strange air which is not fully air,

laying stones to a castle in the
                     sky we once watched, together,
and believed in.

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