I
passed beyond the island of physics like a space ship translating the postulated
void, a condensation drifting in absentia through a coordinate system's
shadow's reflection
to choose the moment in which the princely undergarment
will innocently drink its swill
here there is no sleep, only a kind of unconsciousness
of the familiar constellations organizing their sky as
it spins
shmoetry
Surrealism
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