a hill
from underneath
is invisible
still flowers
growing through
point swaying towards the sun
like any golden ray would
tell it on to lock
the beating polyrhythms
create aural light cascades
as though ridden
farther away
to face winds
blown down crippling corridors
the dark ends of the street
quiet for nothing but
alibis clinging
together like cold
hands rippling
leathery parchments
creased in
the basement
of mercy street
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