A microscopic fuse
lit up around a
zed
will temper silver blues
to reach the curl
of red
if folded with a surge
that crystallizes
sense;
the needs of each converge
at their fullest
extent,
the flame of least reflection
encoding burning
lines
for those who warp dimensions
or lame
dissembling signs,
and each suspended beacon
shading a psychic
lace
crisps up the floating gardens’
encrypted cyclic shape.
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