The Glistening of Formica Memories
Stepping on wet lateral stones,
at the Source of the Bicuspid,
three timeless tree-girls,
dressed in Colorado feathers,
urged on to fly,
as far as the harbinger’s voice,
reverberating from the source
and onward to eternity’s margins,
assume the mad ascendancies
to the highest peak, the farthest city;
their three steeped voices slicing
the formica memories
into...
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