[ I've seen a million sketching time ]

I've seen a million sketching time
in empty rooms that stretch the night
to abscessed wounds and textured lines
and cracks in walls that search and climb
a structured track. Synaptic sparks
strut and tour a path that starts
with lust for more than lasts or parts
and ends with words that fast depart.
Confined obsessions stir to rise
and leave coherent thoughts consigned
to languish in subconscious minds
with perfect murders: Yours or mine?

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