Is It Poetry (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)
a Mask, is to Eye
You travel back words, into the mask
both sides, are free swimming.In black.
I take a picture with my eye, universe is
the mask that you wear, clicked in space.
The dots are millions, the mask is plain so.
Flecks emulate enters, to burn unnamed.
Soul of that which is held, travels on plain.
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