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Destruction

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The destruction of a mirror
sits peacefully at my feet,
like the peach and iron spots that
have settled upon the guilty stone

that looks too peaceful by my feet.
Thin cracks radiate and
settle in deep, stretching from the guilty stone
that fell from the sky, ruining perfection

with thin cracks. They radiate
like city streets out from the hub
that fell. The sky is ruined perfection
and it remains in the mirror.

City streets can shine like mirrors in the rain
and that is when I like them best, when
the sky storms with ruined perfection
and unleashes hail like rocks.

I like best things that are imperfect
because they can hold my attention.
Once flaws are unleashed
they turn to works of art, like the one

that now holds my attention.
A city map is all about design
and it turns to a work of art
if you look at it long enough.

Cities map out designs
invisible to almost everyone.
But look at it for long enough
and you will be the one that is

invisible. Almost everyone
knows that mirrors are easily destructed.
But only some can see them
in colors of peach and iron.





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