Photo by Yousef Espanioly on Unsplash

blossom, sweet morning,
bloom against the tide;
purple petals unfolding
over wonder-widened eyes.

ships float over
swaying seas of grain;
sailors rolling unnumbered dice,
beckoning moon shores in their brains.

clams cloistered like retreating monks
huddled in cold ocean trenches;
blood-red curtains fluttering deep
divide the ocean’s faces.

I’m not in the Matrix. I AM the Matrix. New story “The Archon Hunter” on sale at

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