Steam, so crystalline
Wordless, nameless
It's not nearly enough
It's clearly not
Perhaps it's time to call off the search
I think it's
A way can be a guide
But not a constant path
Our
Escape is not freedom: face the bitter cold, wastrel
Dull urbanity,
An endless harvest colours the horizon
Clutching soil like silver
Void streams
Emptiness is form
The lines have yet to fill your face
But
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