Habit. Forms with nations,
a set of customs-
where the spoons go,
the forks in paths are predictable
when all people previous
have organized their principles.
Fantastic. Feats happen
in misshapen days,
on wide, forgotten roads
and within criminal minds.
Lean towards the crimson rhythm
of twilight,
take singular and lunar sips
of liquid
lines of sun.
You are the real-
printed in indelible newsprint.
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