Memories fade from the picture pages
Feathers that patient glass waited
Unwritten stories and rewritten sentences
Black ink that smudges chances
Black ink that covers change
Ink that covers the spread, creating and making or
Opening doors or
Closing the ones already open.
But the moon still rises and the sun still sets over the mountains of a
beautiful place
Beautiful place, open air and one
way in and
one
way out- that's the road that leads to manna and suffering.
Feathers, like asphalt, shine in the sunlight
and reflect blue light when the lamppost flickers on.
When you walk alone do you have a sense of self?
Ambiguous, natural with your hair and your hoodie and for once there's
No judgment
Just open doors and spilled ink.
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