gothic banjo

cannot abide joyless carousing

betwixt seas
of crackling repartee
and seams
of corduroy comfort
there lies a world of velvet
where believers can rub both sides
and still be free of judgement

shall we ask
for direction
or spin wildly
at the pace
of a champion plucker

will not swallow egregious descriptors

between pages
of forgotten pressed flowers
and nibbles
of leaking pen nibs
there can be stains
foretelling futures
without any past at all


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