cult of the nomadic printers’ guild

made with Artbreeder.

smoke filled machinery
has assembled itself in my lungs
and blankets gyroscopic time
in an atmosphere reminiscent of your touch

to whom shall I cry out
when my fingertips turn into gauze
when the heat we shorted
sells us out at a loss
and the lies we whispered in the morning
upstake
their patchquilt camps
to print their rusty manuscripts
on other sideways floors

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Circa December 13, 2020