Lens upon a bracchial monopod
Resting up the air
Visions that transcend reality
That mere words cannot bare
Atop clouded domes of natural protection
The bluest sky and reddest night
In imperfect harmony
Softly crashing through the fog
No thoughtful eyes around
But staring into heated space
The red in the sky is mine
And the countryside complements
What the cityscape soon replaces
Structured towers and graded beauties
Descent
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