She fears not the sun silenced oblivion extinguished in retreat
for an unbalanced nature
Shrouding darkness over worlds inhabited by slow plummeting
illusions
Colossal feet of godlike monsters kick up dust on abandoned
rails
Gnashing teeth on skeletal dreams and growling in a rummage of
dead shed letters
Seeking land where night hones words on atmospheric whetstone
A precision so finite she slow hemorrhages laughter from a gut
spilling ladder knit vines
Climb and stare the blue pang of know until you meet the image
branded in the back of her
eyes
E. A. O'Connell
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