I cannot be your one, because I left the visible.
And here I begin my descent into the ultraviolet.
But,
sit we in darkness
turn on the waves
and we'll do it before our Comrades find us.
before this well-sculpted figure before you
so shapely, genetically combinable
decays.
Winter's back woods, hunting in pastel and gold.
You've sold your souls for cigarette lighters,
worn out foreign-tense street fighters
life's a commotion
and it's simple motion
Twenty-seven
Fifty-Eight
Posthumously out of date.
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