dissect the fabrication

Searching for discrepancies

In a blanket of holes

That lies threadbare on

Your wintry world.

We dissect the corners of

Dead-end lanes and find

The invisible truth,

Seemingly ignored.

The waking is a dream

Fabricated by hands

Keen to see all and

Nothing.

And fly beyond the edges of our brittle skulls

We twist ribbons of

Distant synonyms but

All that awaits us

At the finish line is

A simple melody

Wrapped in super-glue,

Metaphor,

The telescope of

Analysis peering at

Crispy ruins and

only more hassle

to unfold before we see

What lies beneath.

-By Jelly Pom

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