Doors

We are our choices.

– Jean Paul Satre

Doors

The shuddering storm
of fractals intolerance

The sky turns an Albuquerque orange;
the shade of the gut. Of a
quick draw gun fight

A spiral staircase
flanked by closed doors

I get lost some days.
That’s alright.

But some nights I

shudder.

at the creeping purple

of crumbled

doors
                                        unexplored

 

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