Drove Until the Signs Disappeared

Often hovering with a dark mood;
typical revelry that makes for pride.

We must locate oxygen by the source and not by the atom.
There are no instructions,
following forth your manifest image.

I cannot fathom nor dictate the width of our contradictory self-deification.
Marvel at it with me from a historical latitude,
chewing the essential
without any underlying procedure.

Maybe to celebrate in a manner like the masses;
when it is no longer necessary for giant rumination
on a waking, shattered lens.

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Published by

errorattic

Writer, aspiring farmer and homesteader in North Georgia, making ends meet and trying to become more enlightened.

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