Poem # 43

The electric tears
fall down like a Ferris
wheel at an abandoned
carnival.

These are the kind
of days
that headlights
transfigure
into those kind
of nights.

The metaphysical
boundaries
of sometimes
start much too late
for time melting,
and
you think
the mortality of the
moment lingers
forever.

Once in awhile
the innocence of
laughter is revoked
swimming with angels
in sovereign halls.

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