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a field of electric flowers lies dreaming in the sun, the morning’s light cresting the gently sloping hills with their tallgrass shifting like waves upon stationary swells of even greater proportion. dewdrops glittering from the vertices of every natural shape, translucent crystals augmented by colors whose vibrancy steeps the countryside with emerald, bloodred, and violet.
the city nearby dozes beneath neon billboard flickers while microscopic forms are just starting to traverse the stilted highways. serpent coils turned to stone, a footpath for smokebreathing beetles.
a man sits on a cemetery bench between the two worlds, quietly smoking a cigarette and cradling one leg in his lap in a gesture of complacent rumination. as though imagining the motion of the flowers of the field playing out unaware of the other’s adjacency—a split personality contained within the same space. sewn from the same fabric as all the universe. dual existential spheres tangential but no more. when he sought one, all he could think of was the other.
so he’d learned to sit there every morning, whetting his appetite on coffee, donuts and american spirits in picnic communion with the dreamers under the soil. he is empty by the end of each day but there is always tomorrow.