From one side of twenty-four hours
and back
to one half of all time.
Staring through crow footed eyes
at the beginning of unsubscribed
services centuries old
making no new motion
sans circumambulation around thirty-six score ten degrees.
Radiation pierced ocular nerves
short circuit to
pink mush and dark matter.
Humid chromotography just stays like panting dog in midwest August sun.
In silence they sit,
cross legged and happy.
Stunned by none; the theatre of absurd plays on.
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