Let me decide where
the blue stops
as it filters into an ambiguous haze.
If it not be for the night
that came to save the porcelain tunicate,
then let it be salivating raccoons
fumbling around in the midnight
create the transparency of
modulus duality clarify
the sanctity of screams.
My advice is given
on the graying shores of
Suicide Lake,
talking up against the sky
all the weightless particles
add up to something so much
greater then I.
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