How is the road down? It isn't hot
At first, though I admit the air
Feels moist, but there's a soggy
Cool like moss, which grows
To luxury of slime, and only later climbs
Into its magma malt.
The way it looks: the hollows of eyes
Watch the entrance, and the distance
Is a bird's reply. Tears of water
Course the rocks, somewhere wind
Will try to talk. Soon the sun
Blinks, then the floor drops.
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