November 30 by The Running Son
_|▌Cracked D⊙⊙r Policy |▌_
me, or rather you know
the slice of me you door-crack
shutter peeked into, thought you slit-
eye saw through despite this static screen
you feed, fortifying the conceit needed
to believe in your lucidity illusion
completely. Move a single
degree—like a dream
notice the mirage
of the tittle, the jot.
You fly-by me
by Jim Aldrich
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.