I am two hawks gliding over the film noir


tape situation
holographic novelty
the eye makes it reel onward

the whole roll of it on words towards
setting into the night of due credit
love how the stars fall in names
when the gods make it

at six notes in octave number one
some mob stopped and said it was good
enough at this externalizing
movie at extremities where the six
guns living on the edge
and sex is xxx and why chroma
chromatic tools              some

six bullets one for every wall
unfold your cubes
hyperdimensional tracker

sneak around
a vicious spectator forgets its sacred roll
for redundant hold on the rails

those made of dust
may implode by this fall at
a theatre year new

do re me fa so

The Path of The American Ajna
The sun rises in the birth of jazz

warm delta
take me inside you
vibrations taking note
from yonder keyboard

there are eighty-eight keys and
constellations to make you move

I came to get down
underneath everything



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