Poetry / true has no hue

Gnawing at the necessity to see clearly beyond
a horizontal image rising
out of the murky screen
screaming as a backlash
against a sinking tide
plunging into a reversal of agony
lying in a cloud
made of granite
a field of decadence
decaying inwards
setting my insides searing
a hole at the center of absently minded monograms
tilted into perspective

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