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Aurora Borealis

August 9, 2011

My waking life is sometimes a dream

as if my brain is only just aware:

 

I found today That

I see the world in a perpetual trip

all is so real, unreal, but really surreal

have I been chosen?

 

Corn bubbles to boil in the bowl

like organic Tokyo box hotels

and screaming pain in lava

 

Water laps the muddy shore line

desolate repetition stomach churns

wet grass is submerged in mud again

 

We flower from the dirt

like those puffball wisps

that blow gently from a hand

 

Trees revolve like models of themselves

as I orbit and plastic plants can feel real

tearing off in strings like broccoli

 

Nature grows geometry and everything starts to feel like fractals

still the mountains shine gold at sunset

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From → Poetry

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