The Ambition of Dusk

In a simple sweater, a jawline like a lyric, is the ambition of dusk.

Against the aquarium of stars.

A simple ghost, like a pair of bashful feet in the corner.

The high wires of power lines, the moon like a spool with no thread.

Words in a notebook, coil bound, from the drugstore, do angels tattoo humans on their arms?

A jawline like a stampede, an aquarium of ghosts.

7 thoughts on “The Ambition of Dusk

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