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glance over your shoulder
trestles from the bridge you run across falling
rope swing to the bottom of the canyon
river silt mineral smelt salted on the granite sweltering in the sun.
upon gathering yourself you also have the remains of trestles to retrieve, of which you will render into rafts
saunter into further patches on the hunt for local ghosts .who to toil with this season. I’m in hot pursuit of a leisure.
a disciple in pain at my pleasure. a teaser trailer. teen sailor. tailor-made tween trend setter. tine. wince preen.
toe to toe. my peripheral spy on perpetual curves.
tramp on the bandwidth. limited campout time amongst the sinewy, relatively sizeless lines of the electro-eternal.
we ride in our vessel of context. boss on the perplexed. torque of tomorrow’s utilitarian bio-diesel drones.
spiraling around steeples. all eyes on the Jing-a-ling king. my mind is on the minutiae.
I am the cadillac of coddle. plush comfort of soft context.
our smiles relate but our kisses make decisions.