Bardo

Old dead,
new not yet birthed into–who?

So vacant, it’s toxic
to what we’re trying to do,

what I mean,
caught up in a
back

Feasting
rare dreams

where we

go    to
never    this town
To let   unglue

mannequin
people
get a glimpse into  different black spaces
in between  stars, the velvet

press into haze we come from
let it go
let it go
let it go

Maybe we’ll stay…

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