pangyre

The gruellingsomeness grovel-ating abyss gives
life gives
     matter saves
            dust from clogging its own arteries.

Some pulsating drivel-bound pangyre is waiting
here is waiting
        in the corner saves
                      mist from shrouding its eyes.

A rivetinglikesomething something stalks
you stalks
       you saves
           naught but the saving itself.
This entry was posted in Poetry.

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