saturhaze

some saturdays
feel like freedom
while others
cast a pall
like a funeral shroud
over an otherwise
fleeting
sense of flight
the machinations
of grinding flesh
to paste
beneath
the mechanical jaws
of hubris
plays a catchy song
of bones splintering
along
the fluffy white
candy clouds
in the pastel blue
banishment
of weeping stars
hidden behind
the umbra
of nuclear malaise

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