Too late a bit, couched in gills
Hard fish the morning sneeze
Commingles to the dust in sun
Like particles before time.
The trees play birds to rock-star
Proportions, one flies red away
Then the shaken leaves, coalesce
Into the mower, motor and engine
Revved to make the sky flinch.
In the sound grown out of darkness
A fuzz to face the light like
The imperceptible register on the amp
Still turned on, the show is coming
To memory across a fractured mind.
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