Rorschachled and Bound

in my inkblot notebook
I can see you just as I am,
kept by you as
your own

imagined filigree,
some number of pages deep beneath
a foreign greeting:

how long will we remember
how we could not bare to see
the rising rust redact our
desperate attempts at

a reign of gilded silence lost
to a hum of railroad steal

but had I drawn you
out from the paper,
I could know Even for a moment
that ephemeral conviction
of purpose

an instant of communion
in otherwise

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