Secret secret
our fictions become real
don’t say that you said
you need to become
an admirer or else
you are lost — what you prize
above all else is
clarity — but what you
must have is harder
to determine
flagrant moonlight
craving for peacocks
air pouring down
horrific mofo
or no one; the problem
always sticking to
what’s determined
or imagined; you shouldn’t
do that, you’re a tool
following nacre
when you know it’s uncool
to insist on continuity
in this night curiously
without coyotes
they overdid it last time
day decanted
the nothing that happened
reality and dream
while you’re away
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