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Into White
Had there been sleep
the morning may have passed,
uneventful
but fog moved through
looking to moisten,
eager to creep
a decision loomed,
mist or mattress,
and with a convenient click
there was Ligeti:
“atmospheres” ▷
composed two years prior
to my appearance on earth
the screeches are shrill
yet soothing,
among a rage of tones
not a range, in case you were thinking
of a spiral iminent
with despair
in mourning
an entity
enveloping in dissonance
resolves steadily
my field a dense macro
monophonic
of white