he’s half shaded at the past image spawn-point sputtering

a warning under the misting droplets & warm sunscreen tastes

so distinct, as weather-weird as petrichor see we’re all just goats

tacked on a tiny career decision ledge the hushed & hurried mist

even missed you doesn’t playback well in the synapses they were

seemingly caught on VHS tape & all the AVs glitch innopportunely

it renders further interpretation of the moment futile but

he can switch focus now gaze over to the soft-serve truck

listen to circuit-bent waves of green sleeves propelled

across such humidity: we control our own thoughts

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