Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Jr Korpa

he lady wears a dress
of monarch butterflies.

(The lady is a keyhole;
her mouth is a flame)

he butler’s hands are piano keys
feeding chickens in the rain.

(The butler is a postcard;
his mailbox is his brain)

he handmaiden’s eyes are gilded,
her spine is a watch chain.

(The handmaiden is a green pasture;
her hills crawl with white goats)

he policeman eats a plate
full of monocles and coffin nails.

(The policeman is a tugboat;
his eyes are harbor mists)

he machinist paints Antarctic sunrises
on black leather boots.

(The machinist is a coral snake;
his heart is a dinner bell)

he house where all and none reside
shivers in the snow.

(The house is a book;
its walls are train stations)

Go.

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I’m not in the Matrix. I AM the Matrix.

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