White Hot Wonders

We look in to find white wonders

look out dangers unawares

wired to supernovae campsites

with pots of ashen grit

Turn up the volume

on my misgivings

so I can take back

the leavings of my soul

No fortune teller drinks here

No blind psychic sees the shapes of tea

poem by Boink Boink
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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