Celluloid Trances

Space is this tiny interlude, between the choices, and the
love-threads. But somehow, somewhere
along these misty aeons, you create dangerously meaning that can substantiate
your shadow and transform it into a dream, that you can change, and that you
might never have to run away from, simply chase till other turns. And thru the
incidents that show so many trails, and a judgment at crucial cruxes of
swinging time, you’ll summit upon a place, upon a grief in the nights to
foresee the great phases. Discovering sparks, and eyes that glimmer in the blue
apocalypse.

An apocalypse, where the sky is asphyxiated by an array of destructive planes, and the vengeance darts in thru openings in the sky, and the guns are shot inward, and the crowds dither and wither and run, while their arms get mangled in each other’s. But to each his own, and so many fall…

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