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At the drive-in, zentangled
particles of winter–
or is it the disrupted
plumage of pale fowl–
shower these Alps on which we’ve
idled our engines,
basking under starry maps;
leaning projections
of two white, active shooters.
The harsh cold blasts us
relentlessly in our coated
shivers. We inspect the spacial
dendrites & sloughings,
crystal spines bend between our
rotating pinches.
The search for definition
distracts us, baits us;
men drop as their stomachs blossom
kool-aid rhododendrons.
When they squeeze the pain, the stains
leak placidly, crimson.
Our screams echo the screams
flickering on the
imminent big picture
imminent blanket of sky.

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