Right Outside the Follywood

by jerrontables

When you thought for sure you were you wore the watcher’s eye.

We didn’t.

When did we believe our words were writing on the sky–

Flat.

When the world a stops the twirl because you go and die,

We all for tears and broken there the groundings where you lie.

Splits.

Fitzgibbon.

Mirror tell the sorry tale of where you’re gone to lie

And the special skin of harlequin goes yellow in the rye

 

Scraps.

 

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