This is a strange, hodge-podge poem that kind of makes my brain hurt. I’m not sure if it’s going to stay the way it is or if I’m going to continue fiddling with it.


The open borderline staggers
and the framework skips.

It is possible to think without
the sail
, the ship tells itself,

over and over, as stones freeze
around it and a vacuum forms.

Nature, having nothing better
to do, decides to abhor it.

Somewhere, the refrain from
a Elvis song is stuck on repeat,

and colors decide to cooperate.

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