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Cartoon Abyss

My dream factory's kissed by danger.
Strangers in shadows,
mad men fingering blow up buttons,
fronting blown up cartoons,
parodies of themselves in quadruple.
To do or not? Who knows?
The question's how fast i can lead this lead back,
put this pencil in reverse,
before they make a mess of everything or worst.
I wake in a sweat, sketch crumpled in my fist.
A scrunched finger still manoeuvres,
moved by a night breeze. Smell of magnolia
floats through window as i rub the button out.
The finger still lifts across an empty space.
Still looking to dictate.
Searching out a place to press itself down.

7 Apr 18

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