in the soft, weightless beauty of
de chirico sunlight
in the silence of his shadows
we are not quite ghosts here,
and we were never really lovers
is this right?
and freedom, anymore, is a
bottomless lake filled with corpses
it’s the necessity of taking sides
and how did this come to be?
who do we have to kill to
turn our own beliefs into law?
figure this out
and the future is yours
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