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The Moth Collector
twilight’s switch in melodramatic highs
alight from within those squeegeeing eyes
wayward sliding streetlight meridians
as if malleable at such melancholic ease
ooze out fimbriae in a dimming haze
over curled & clumped shadows
of the interlocking mascaras
in juggernaut fallouts
random running traffic yellows
bolden as monstrous lanterns
in plotted transverse intercepts
a netted darkening strung with geckoish acoustics
simmers under the sunken moon’s solo rendition
densifying nights stare owlish
in its deeply fluorescing wavelength
beckoning
her blackhole vessel -cornered
to a blackout submergence
where the roofless dark
hang out in digging facades
of the dying and the dead
clogs her clumsy tangled self
her frangible keratins crackle
wettened peduncle from tightened holds
destalks in a series of clucking silence
fragmented bosom’s cut off barbs
stranded as delusional tentacles
to a towering nowhere, in
a wanton lytic finale
- a catapulting trapeze artiste
in extremities of a felt infinity
from terrain ingrained in lies
blown off to dusts and stardust
-each one’s a palanquin messenger
of the dead and the dying
of those innumerously
fallen moths of her soul
in an integral cohesion
of liberating abstractions
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