Drift like sand.

In the deadened sub-space –
energies of solipsism
from transparent mouths
drift like sand
into the throats of tellers.

Now he shall rise like brume –
as memories
fall from his fingers
and into her hair
like weights of a chain.

But they remain in time and motion –
with a drowning ideation
that their dreams
drift like sand
into the universe alone.

With a broom they sweep –
he has gone to the left
while she lies in a field
plagued of white-out
in the deadened sub-space.

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