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On the coattails of a magnificent eve

Restless oblivion churns in quiet solitude

What breathless thoughts have come to nest

in the pocket of my spirit's vest, as the fringe

tickles my delicate fancies, firing off like

reckless pistols lost and shining red in the dark


A confusion brought on by a lack of fusion

with the carnival of monotony that surrounds

the flickering scenes of a movie made without

the comforts of reality; tethered to the mind

left to grasp at the coattails trailing behind

the waltzing steps of a magnificent eve

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