Drone
Dropped down upon my head with
A withering drone
Like 747's passing through a small tube
In search of home
Absurdity perceived realistically
Things go soft and gooey
A descending drone of primary tones
Flashing beacons, misdirection
Conveyor belts of hardest bricks
Reciprocally pelts
Coming up for air
Perception
Lastly,
The drone crushes, crushing until their flatness
Matches
Like ancient Peruvian stones
The moment before flattening, suffocating
Sameness
Before release into
The true line
Bends
Is the line which bends
In timelessness
A circle which is complete
Yet never meets?
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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