Your polished gray headboard stands erect
mirror surface framed in scroll and patina
jagged horizon reflecting blurs of pathos
punctuating the depths of my ambivalence.
Warm stone blanket crunched beneath
damp folded knees I bow before you
riding the rails of bittersweet vacillation
cleansing my disc, defragging my perception.
You are the originator. Creator of the garden.
I ride on your ticket.
I bring you white flowers, a message from Icarus
mine was your sea, the crests too large
I dripped your radiation, but I am here
digging in the tarp, mounding dirt and rock around your sacrificial pot
mining my unease, in the glare of the molten sun.
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