Compass free

I can always tell north from south
Chaperone the invisible oysters,
The velvet shadows laying down their voice weapons
In an ocean of virtualities.
The open, transparent, almost magnetic wounds -
such a melodic whisper;
The layers of uncertainty performing metallic allusions -
a nonsense wave jigsaw,
a lost, meaningless smile clouding your lips,
I love you” - another irony of language
stated in an eternal yet rapidly decaying present
forcing us to make impossible pledges,
assume the best of a stranger’s long-term promises
Lured and drugged by perennialism,
Some are only afraid of needles.

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