Round rafts drift, onyx.
From above, sunspots.
Passengers on each
cloaked in fuligin.
Invisible, ghosts.
Though they stomp their feet
the craft do not rock.
How they bleat in pain --
the heat. The raspy
voice of a choir boy
extinguished too soon
inks in wisps: grace notes
fluttering above
red rippled magma.
Interminable
when one considers
__________the Styx.
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