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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

Apparition Zeta-43

This is an alien transmission 
from deep inside your space.

A wooden clock that ticks
inside a steel beam prism
that senses, when you 
breathe the monolith.

Make this right, circle round
back again, give me 
the cyclops eye
to see this one
through.

Here we go 
firing all cylanders
the nexus 
of beginning 
of new spaces.

A few stars in a pocket,
the ghosts wandering
through your arms,
don't you remember?

The specie unknown
that traces over your
fraility in forms.

Divlugence in fractions.







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