red clouds over Metropolis -
calm night under a dark watch -
blood glow that condemns stars -
and a moist draft that carries the dead of dusk -
- blind hiss of wheels at crossroads
- head-lit melancholy of late travel
- glass beads swelling with each fall
- puddles that wash heels' memories
and ends meet to name their course towards death;
that purported peaceful death, haunting the undead -
like my star-torched dream,
what unholy praise from hallucinated prophets
would this dawn prey on the pages of my fictional beginning?
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