brittle black plastic
is a path.
are you taking it north?
i was military
making dents occur there.
handily i fed myself
another mile of wind,
slept in a cold copy of tongue.
i pack a borderline now
as i'm moving.
i stick it to ground that is too long.
i'm diagramming my next bite.
i stick it to the beachless edge
where the stairway to water
is slackness then a fall.
my joints swivel in succession as
i petrify standing back a ways.
i'm waiting for my daylight to get
to a tiny black hole in my eye,
when my core will meld
to a column of cloud / a river of fire by night.
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