asleep in the tyranny of lost things

intrepid muse. fuming at the bit
like a consummate fumarole
at the bottom on oceanÂ
of sun
tumbling in completeÂ
disjoint from all
other ones.
a flow that sings
when the sting is a kiss
and a pure
thought.
asleep in the tyrannyÂ
of lost things
finding itÂ
all.Â
Â
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