low faded moon peels
at the sides
like yellow stained paint
curling off the wall
till you want to
reach up and pull it down
sick and oily
with
a lack of light
a lack if white
there’s a bleached as bone
cold memory
singing in my head
the higher it goes
the brighter it gets
the closer to Heaven
the closer to pure
that’s the time
a late blooming linen
moves into sun –
lunarflare
alive in another
Harnessing Chaos 
hey, that\’s cool. 😀
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