Everyone's a fucking poet!
in the blue hour
by a.h.s. boy
fivethirty in the morning nothing lucid inside not motion not position not the polish of mirror & the opaque windows, hope & glassy-eyed will ask not demand that you paint your endevours on the door as you leave -- a landscape of absent waiting rooms for the arrival of unknown guests decorated without blueprint no fashion can accomodate dreams cacophonous bliss the small minutes before dawn ubiquitous thoughts the universe in scale clocks stopped measuring distances of now & then until we woke the sparrows missing songs of explanation throwing darts at caution strangers gone beyond the day of fools "laughter & memory" a masterpiece departure lingering and then some
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