Words that burst blue, orange, yellow,
leaving ebbing and heaving cinders –
fleeting fleeing fluttering memory that disintegrated into some nitrate.
Resurrected in a conspiracy hatched
by m/s. prose, pen, paper.
Soar, phoenix.
Thirty Six
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beautiful.
And a Happy New Year to you as well.
Achacha…
ummm…er… š okie.