Psychedelic Science

Gray clouds in every memory
winding through cobblestone paths,
more narrow than the line I draw
between you and I.

Hardly the right reaction,
wind blows loudly through chasms,
through screens, through machines
with cogs creating unity

through physicality, something
we all need, we all resist,
sounds like ghost voices in harmony:
just another roar of machines soaring by.

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