The World

it’s becoming colder
from the window
which is not a puzzle
to solve

but to become a
piece of
cardboard for the weather
and glass pane drink

sunshine, it turns older
before labyrinths of
color find their shapes

in the hand-made
answers of
paper—

they shrivel
wet with thunder and pavement
escapes from under
the risk

which exhales
at the last moment of a retired
will, a shadow

of linkages runs dry until
it takes over the entire screen and now
is the world

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One thought on “The World

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