Bright lights, dry dark heat,

A whirlwind of grand destination,

That can’t keep the rush of night at bay.


Move again, shake,

Open retina, idle brain,

Holding secrets of which the heart intrudes,

In pixels, signals, intangible,

Pylon currents running to the horizon.


To sit beside the canyon,

Of depth and thrilling falls,

Whose eddies roll into oblivion,

Like the spinning roulette ball.


Rolling circles, open eyes, crying in the wind,

Rocket shell, burning bloodshot dawn,

Dustbowl blue jeans,

Red cross painted on the locked front door.


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