last night i

flew past road dashes so fast
they became one
and highlighted the path
from the moon to the sun,
bleeding blood orange,
singeing the cusp of a crispy sky.

saw the rye was high.
saw feathers screaming songs i heard.
saw That Thing You Said To Me
still echoing off the crystal mountain tops,
probably pestering the birds.

looked up ahead, and
dread poured water in my eyes.
he stood tall like death, and
beat me with the blunt end
of his scythe.

apologized profusely to the apparition
and i brushed off my pants.
went back the way i came,
and got back to making plans.

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