2 Star Motel #1

When God performs the
ultimate pattern combination,
and all our stars forecasting
are fallen from the sky,

And we are death,
walking out among
our brethren,

Becoming isosceles strangers.

Nuclear holocaust mitigation,
apocalyptic triangulations,
no more quarantines.

But boundless in this surface-deep
sarcophagus, the starry sky
unfolds to quench our thirst

For the rose’s prick.

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