White Hot Wonders
We look in to find white wonders
look out dangers unawares
wired to supernovae campsites
with pots of ashen grit
Turn up the volume
on my misgivings
so I can take back
the leavings of my soul
No fortune teller drinks here
No blind psychic sees the shapes of tea
poem by Boink Boink
Added by Poetry Lover
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