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Vanishing Point
Filaments flash in a picture frame
Weaving the story of this undulating game
Waves crest atop shoulders and grasp out at stars
Mountains crash to the shoreside, and into our hearts
The monkeys, with tools, stub their own toe
And the blind bat reaps what he sows
Giraffes topple over from too long a neck
Yet some would gain solace from a long, treacherous trek
I saw a man in a bowler hat
Outlined by a vertical puddle of bright
He tipped his head to me
And glided off into the night
Saving shards of the shimmer before
I wandered the evening, forlorn
Into a river, I hurled my body forwards
A small note rising before the cymbal crash
Black night, black voices, black thoughts
A not-wet sea of negative space
I locked my neck in place
Froze my face upon those stars fading into a growing cornucopia
Dreaming that with enough sternness, strife, inward focus on life
I could melt into the next day
Then I got out of the tub
Dried my eyes, mother's cub
And looked out into the night
Through slants of green gray
I could see what I'd say
Was the man in the bowler hat
Naked was he as he flew towards a star
Flickering out of existence
Shimmering white overtakes
Submerged in a lake
White noise, white light, white thoughts
The black figure winked
I can't make myself think
I thought to myself, my face flat
But one more black object flittered
Down in the glitter
It was the bowler hat
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