>improv for Long Island ex-pat

>observing things, people at motion
subconsciously drowns a creeping star
they wipe across the sky — warm missiles
with self-regulating (seismic) voices rinsing
voices, certain but unrelenting  the smell
a knee-high pile of leaves, dry branches
set ablaze creeping stars wipe
across my face flush with observation
and stronger wrapped in purple, velvet cloth.

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