within shady
archaic windows,
ghostly
through tattered lace.
Pyramids in painstain
slowly rotate
in cock-eyed angles
and sardonic glances.
Moons in crescents
slice a piercing
silent cry in
shades of anguish
and pout.
Riddles coming
and going,
slowly inching
towards befuddlement
and loamy laughter.
There are blackbirds in the rafters.
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