Face
of the
clouds
the boss
turns towards me
programs excel
in oceans’
green reflections
hard drives
screaming
horsemen entering
without knocking
parallel lines
hard driving rain knock
pure sense from me
formulae,
flowers
emerge and in rising
there is calculation
we must
catch up
the mouths of the stars
and the wind
without yearning
draws lines from each
point of light
to a fixed beginning
and a drop from the
edge
the boss noting
in a book that’s dissolving
outside
the face of the clouds
and the rain
going
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