By Victoria Garcia
the surreal is incurableu2013it might open
where i feel temporary,
where the whole world flashes
like moss learning nude verse
& impart on the being
like a festival of lanterns,
so i try to forget
the drusen working under
the emaciation of the widely known
wherein under each new stone i thrive
& the opal iu2019d eat out of an owlu2019s heart
is the freakish opulenceu2013
a sad button of the sickness.
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