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By: Chasingtheday~

Organisation
bubbles from lips:
spreads of biology,
wispy confusion lingers
in shades, arrangements;
musical in their
structured baritones,
linguistic language
shoots through pleasure
inside the mind’s matter-
of fact grey wisdom.

Molecules
spit poetry’s analysis,
fingers flap bones;
cracking in death’s
still life amusement.

All the while the
cold wind of a deadline
crashes against syllables;
abandoned and I laugh
positive speculation
into another smoke-filled lung.

Creation’s such a casual being –
she whispers promises
while she devours inspiration. 

© chasingtheday. All rights reserved

Chasingtheday / Late Night Poet @AllPoetry.com