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take a walk with my whimsy
Parallel Lines: A Sonnet
 
 
how ash soundly circles the fingertips
as the throat and the dust embrace,
and how quickly the cuticles swarm up as thrips,
when the hands lose touch of the face.
 
hallowing and harrowing hums settle
like the last sip poured from a cup,
when a chocolate laugh turns to metal
a corpse long content wakes up.
 
when cobblestones rearrange the way home
mindful of the mind on the mountain top,
the bones collapse to map their hippodrome
but at the heart is where the body stops.
 
count all the breaths from now and then,
crystals on pistols, to be shattered again.