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Happy Oblivion
It circles awhile, I suppose, until at last
having found nothing green it
returns
The holy dove of tongues on fire
released�
The birthday cake, the ruined and
vacant
sheets, the pilot lost
in a vast dopamine cloud
Closed eyes
and lips that open hovering
on the verge of speech, the final
breath, also known as the infinite
hours which preceded the first,
at last released.
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