// CAGE
Image creation underlines from the same bird
echoed throughout the olive mustache landscape.
In the mirrors, hard trimmed but never
hard to meet, each would please
a moth-eaten device,
a silver-tangled surging wave,
a consumption iteration
of flashlight pens.
And so the song ended,
deeply felt in parking lot country,
typically dizzy round titanium-wire
but ultimately
unrecognised.
made by Vixen Phillips | foxtail @ protonmail . com | @subtransience@tiny.tilde.website | @foxtailrainbow