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Hours change, dripping on end
Spiraling down their temporal drain
Bodies grow, mature, and decay
Decomposing until they are resurrected once again

There is no linear pattern to the seasons I feel
Deep within, each day samples with zealous decadence
Today June, tomorrow snow

Each week is a tsunami of emotion
I lift my head up above the wave’s crest
But I drown before I can gasp for air

One storm rages inside
An annual return that will not submit
Inside me these seasons cease to change
Governed not by months but rather moods of consciousness

Aboard this doomed vessel I stare at the horizon not with a lens
But with a kaleidoscope mirror
So that every image is fractured into a rainbow  of chrysanthemums
And I can barely differentiate one latitude from the next

Land ho!
And I am dominated