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Image for post

I felt that I would fly away

Like a blue balloon

Or like the half-moon

That pierces the evening veil

If my air would hold

If time frayed tired reins

That seemed to wither and grown old

If her grip should wane …


And I intoxicated by thinning air

Masking shallow breaths

With an effortful stare

I could dream

Of drifting behind the dark impulses

Past the voids and empty spaces

(Their delirious embraces)

Of the hot breaths


But far above a tear-stained face, I could only think

I remember

“Ah, I remember!”


In the fields of pink-haired…


Michael Tauberg

Engineer in San Francisco. Interested in words, networks, and human abstractions. Opinions expressed are solely my own.

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