To awake
"Surreal" she said and
a nebula is vibrating in her hair.
Red. Green. Amber, somewhere,
her shoes are leather cracking the gray milky way
while all eyes stare down at her.
Flotsam and drift-shine
on the dingy drenched asphalt.
She is cosmic
Waste.
And her craven eyes mere marbles
of ice
in a furnace of sky.
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