Temporal Fruition 2.0

he is real like Koreatown karaoke bars
jagged edges daunting peaks trap voices

she is 200 blank pages wet waiting
for ink to splurge waste nothing

Discourage all reason to air condescension
to say that this is not a life!
Just add trash paint from cans

to wheelbarrows sand from hourglasses
scribbled pages grapple at ease
something to depend upon

Time will exist without rhyme anyway

Where ocean water melts foaming
into split open beach beneath smog-stained streets
a candlelit shoreline highlighting dead sea breath

is aware and clear for one moment until desire
leaves a single environment with muddy feet and
time moves still training on a blank schedule

for where ever.

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