A plastic bag, swivet in the wind,
Dangling and dancing from the susceptible scruples of solstice.
You see it and it becomes you.
However fleeting, however brief, however transitory
The bag has become a balloon of thought for today.
You will see it in your dreams,
Supplemented by the link betwixt the conscious and subconscious.
But you see, it’s chimerical,
For this abandoned gossamer flapping dove,
Reality pending,
Is you, and when your pupils, delitescent behind the curtains of cartilage,
A façade, for a new life has now truly begun.
The viscosity of the brain shrouds this endless effusive enigma,
Explore prodigal,
And illuminate these dark sunspots.
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