For a poet
in a wayward world
on the ruins
of hollow advice
needing the tears
of his blindsided Muse
from her transferred
hotlines
conveyed in transience
by a ethereal glimpse
at a timely emptied
loneliness
phoned in by skype
phoned in by skype
by an unhinged vision
of diaphanous soft flesh
yet difficult to bare.
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