Coincidence is Someone's Voice

A Collection of Poems

 

The Conference  

 

I split the sky with poorly calibrating eyes.

 

Alone in contempt of my owned heart,

and the subtle clouds that trail behind.

 

Jetting me toward a world of desire,

unworthy of machines and cogent premises.

 

I rest discreet upon a vacuum of intuition 

and fertile flowers.


There I'll sing and spit light upon a carpeted floor.


Decohering.

 

To dull the noise and perceive relevance in a handshake. 

 

 

The End

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