heaven I don't know
heaven has no end - yet -
unsuccourable earth's sole pageant contends
friend! you are mine
you stranger to reality. to me -
your facedown fluency is a circadian constancy
- wheatbread makes you ever unwell
telephones - or - anything telephonish
is as strange as wooden nightness
we gather estrangements in paltry pieces
hoping sensitive sunlights and peaceful spirits
will remind us - some reality and some heaven -
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