at the end of the night's rope

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shatter your windows
and the light goes out
argon escaping bulb
look for candle to light

cats turn to tigers and back to form
tall order foolishness

blood under strawberrymoon
chalet in the seven hills
evergreen and tasting sweet
even if it overspills

dakota insular no more than
minnows know agency
swept along ruthlessly
vindication like surgery
yet in its infancy

diamonds on the run from
the processing line
they may be a little rough
take or leave
take or leave

cinnamon girls
running on fumes
and out of cinnamon
tomorrow and no more of use

pick a table saw up and cut
targa tops into the
roofs of your world

blood under strawberrymoon
chalet in heaven's hills
tasting sweet and sugary
like everything out of reach

grainy like a vhs tape
composite cable tied to futures
rainsoaked and moondrenched when received
no coming home just before the dawn

at the end of the night's rope
muse down to her last instrument
revives a forsaken calliope
humming vetiver scented hope

at the end of the night's rope
muse down to her last song to play
opens her mouth to say words
you wish would be made known to you

cats turn to tigers and back again
tall order foolishness

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