beneath the tears of trees
light through air and dust and smoke
blessings upon blessings
the high-roller cartel cruises
along a rusted trail to next to nowhere
extra spaces dot my 't's and cross the whatever
the spiritual guides of my brains manipulate
universe thoughts, set them on a toast and pop
them back into my neural oven until
they're just greasy enough to spoon feed a church choir
and if that doesn't make sense, i don't know how to console you
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