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Build

the moon, the stars,
  the darkness
before the rose
and all that stirs, lies
beneath the crest
of hollowed eyes
crouched atop bones
wept white to fossil,
uneasily buried
in a strata of slept
and when
    thoughts mesh
like entwined fingers,
those nimble servants
  of build,
we stoop to erect a shelter
of ourselves
against tomorrow
riddled radioactive
with the ghosts
of today

skull-sure in the logic
of a far-off dawn









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