A Tired Song of Despair

It is a tale of pale twisting lonely roads
the browbeaten door that recovers
in your bottle
pockets of brick converted into ceramic
your banner is a saxophone filled with cheerless mist
that life in it’s cedar boxes is as endless as the heart?
A delicious wind of acrobats!
Bones of a arrogant boat.
Growing among
the lost and forgotten archipelagos?
Among the few,
steady as a blood-stained tiger
to the spacious wide mist.

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