deepundergroundpoetry.com
A lucid edge
We were running hand in hand
to a lucid edge free of dimension,
the bulb moves nearer spellbound
as the binaural beats close in
I heard the Good Gray Poet singing to his woman
under the moon of the prairie phlox,
there was polarizations and iridescence.
The truck's in the driveway
with the battery dead,
I’m sitting on the stoop,
drinking boozy coffee in the morning air.
to a lucid edge free of dimension,
the bulb moves nearer spellbound
as the binaural beats close in
I heard the Good Gray Poet singing to his woman
under the moon of the prairie phlox,
there was polarizations and iridescence.
The truck's in the driveway
with the battery dead,
I’m sitting on the stoop,
drinking boozy coffee in the morning air.
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