12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

The Sybil of Cumae

All of this:

faded night joists

pouting

gouts of cyan

greet Sol as he ignites dawn,

magnified through my glass.

A gunmetal sky

silver sidelong

slip of birdwing

in and out of range.

Light-tattered helianthus

Fibonacci flowers

seasnails

galaxied reminders

of order.

All of this

through my jar.

Your thought sifts

tongues

of ash that clothed me

finds traces

of prospect,

universe.

I am contained

so that my voice

cannot fall

far

from all of this.

AdBuster

Tell me wotcha reckon

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