Stars wink as the concrete slaps on a cool hug
My stoop.
My home.
"Be here...now," it whispers gently.
My heart attempts to ignore its musings, but
The legs...the legs are receptive.
The arms give out as well.
My eyes attempt to make sense of new positions.
Slightly on the edge of my red labeled reasoning
Sits my new voice in his circled home.
"Relax," he clinks at me. "Time no longer exists for you."
His smooth voice compels me like the concrete to wait out the cicada's song
In crumpled paralysis of tenative dogmas.
The wind cannot lift me, and the songs are drowned out by Venus' rising.
I await the sunrise to burn my soul into the wall.
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