Beat those desperate wings just to maintain, in that glorious blaze of feathers and flames. Ashes from the meat will form a dead beach, but we could scream a sun to terrify the sea, turn the dirt to glass and wake the deceased. Our hollow bones line the inside frames of stolen BMX bikes. Wake, and then sing. Where there's an end there must be a beginning. Time likes to watch me struggling. A chrysalis formed for orchids moaning, begging the sun to bring the morning, missing the point, the signs, the warnings. Don't go to sleep.
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