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Flammable Stockpile.

Blinding fire.
Feed it your endless

stockpile
of flammable.
Strong odor of sulfur
suffocates,
yet somehow enlivens

me. Tabula
rasa, motherfucker.
Stare straight
on into the light
of my soul

so I go blind
again, back to seeing
nothing at the core
of all that is, was,

can, could
have, will be: no depth,
no color, no dimension:
nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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