Spilling Blanks

effluvial thought -
amidst lemon sky seasons while
a gun-like tongue all
stripes and stars settle in
cannon -
one after another 
after another
after another
right into your 
petty little 
opinions.

keep coiled, young cobra
keep reams of paper
spilling out of the press,
hot and steamy
like the soft 
and shimmering surface
of a distant star.

so distant
so remote
that any bright
moment
is a landmark
unseen
but in dog-eared
postcards
with the words
"see you later"
scribbled in red
scrawl, right
across
the
back.

The End

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