Spells of a myth…..

Lightning storms are miraculous streams from the mental potency of the sky….
In a mirror of dissertation a lovely room and a meek spotlight
I find myself escaping under
commonly known for the direction I point
In a miss or permission you found my moment in time
Listening to that Mazzy Star accompanying my dial tone
when the vino yells at me with such direct us
Of such myth and cajole
Simple as a map of thought – I sit
Remember the press that surrounds when I think
and I miss
And reach to you like that triple threat you are…
And it’s not even so much new as old
That many array of nothingness in a past
That doesn’t exist in the moment
And now, all I see….is me.

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