Thursday, June 7


Stark, yellow folded against a sharp, dark vision, the blue sub-reality of the cube, the crass white room.
And then an idea slides through my mind, like a blade of light through a dank, dusty room.
Reversed now.
Black sliding through the white now, not so black.
Shine your light. If light were dark, that is; if black were day;
dusty black, slick and murder the movement.

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