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into that distance
you love when you spill the colors
not just the rainbows
but black and white too
your world a frieze
where the figures are flushes
from the stroke of your brushes
existing in broken dreams
where former lives are lurking
distorted and detached
vain woven pictures of the forgotten
cracked in grey bits
like shallow predicted essence
that portrait withered by slivers of pain
as the vanished shadows pass along
dazed and scattered
they become relatives as if it is compulsion
as my day on date expires
into that distance that you so revered
