THE LAST MANSION

In the last mansion there is love like tomorrow made of wings
and i serenade the impossible with a torrent of absolutes
foraging for an angle in a complete circle-
where a swarm of joy has perched in my oblivion
stunting the growth of ill winds
like a focused diasporaΒ
unfickle as i join the happy few
teeming with arrangementsΒ
that love can kiss
Β Β
and hate expireΒ
Β
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