27 Spices

Spice cabinet of mismatched grounds,
Bottles, and jars soldier up in order
Of importance,
Or newest to oldest.
Quirks of color, powder, and rocky crags
Stroke the windows of sad, blurry prisons.
The depths the rows are quiet with
Faded souls found worthy only once. Long
Since stale and useless, a lost fragrance
Of something unique, absorbing the cupboard
Instead. Suffusing and vague. Tasteless
Lint. Flavorless boredom.
A perfume of everything and nothing.
Vessels that yield blent colors, half-tones,
And a pallid spirit.
Standing together, yet alone.
They become each other. Embracing an
Indistinguishable affinity.Image


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