Washed by the bass dome,
cleansed by the iodine and sulfur chunks
that line the empty end of my cradle;
I'm branded with a constant sound
and a trillion scars forming code
that signals every downfall to come and collapse.
Taking in the coffee grounds
and loosening every dusty, jointed limb,
I began my caravan consisting of my aspects,
my glitches and my stores of hoarded remembrance.
I grew sick upon witness of my theorized demise.
Upon regaining conscious and grounded state of mind,
I awoke with all companion-selves to new gardens,
gates made of pearl and sweet molten silver.
I recognized this place as home and came down to my knees,
favoring the ground upon, my arrival had been welcomed.
I rose and gathered all my selves
and went to rest
beneath the many trees again.

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