we are figures upon the earth
bulging in the pockets of gods
tasting the snow flakes of dust
and embracing a filtered sun
we are carried on to reign in our filth
but somewhere on the inside
cornered in the crevices
paintings are extracted
music streams from consciousness
and in this little world
bulging in the pockets of gods
the kingdoms of our emotions
glow in a golden hue
upon the galleries of our existence
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