A forest of potential toothpicks
looks out over a sea
holding old chaos in its hands
tightly.
things broken and unknown
crawl into small spaces
and hovels
to sing.
wavering voices from under branches
tinny notes inbetween roots and leaves.
we are dominoes
careening and caressing each other to the floor in a fluid, perpetual charade.
crashing in on one another
waves on glass
until we all become grains of sand.
minute, indistinguishable.
bound together by elements we are unable to understand.
somber fingers touch skin
touch veins
touch bone, gripping skeletons smiling, eyeless.
slowly
a flower opens
on hallowed fields of cement.
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