Minute twinklings,
zombies unharmful.
Hairs on a pillowcase
wash in the machine;
whirring playfully
as in a dance
from a night before
when Nantes played.
Trumpeting choral
reefs speak together
in harmony of hair
product unknown.
Sanded, glistening
chips from fossilled rock.
An un-lonely evening
still spatters my face with grin.
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