4:30 AM

Written by ©Mitchell Pluto August, 23 2021

Four word 30. It is always a half.

Two more points reflect 6, 9 and back to a hidden 3 again.

The clock hands do not hold the numbers.

The zero is an egg without pressure or surface.

Four words drift by.

Pleasure, pain, value and waste.

A cross, a star, an intersection, a direction.

The world arduously spins a square into a diamond.

You, me and us.

Skin wrapped tight together and then loose again.

Two spheres merge a chime into a flower.

A room with rounded corners.

An elevator opening each floor to each ceiling.

An elemental spine, Damballa and Ayida.

Evening and day.

One tile with a pressed line between.

A folded roof.

A house under the waves of a patient moon.

We are wake with weightless vision.

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