Prowess-poised and vulgar,
vandal hordes abjure cover,
creep after full-moon terror,
stockings bar evening dress,
splay the random encounter
with an oblivious mishmash
of strayed, nameless hikers,
body-fluid varnish/splatter
in variations of amaranth;
pillaged nightmare clover
with ruby-grass overdose
and the scarlet-lava dream
in majorelle blue-on-horror
and magma mulling over
maya and sapphire hues;
so much for color wheels
and easels' erected display,
so much for the reckless
visit from the vandal horde;
nevermind the role of closure
nor the venerable roadshow;
do not forget to wonder
about how you should never
live in the past/recall youth
while at the same time
not forgetting it nor why.
Me and my sideshow shadow.
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