The grooves of life held but not long for this state. The green leaves placed just long enough. The poet, a national villian, who keeps to his piece. The hymnal, just out, a windy blowing just across one lot. A promise made to the citizenry: One day they’ll all come home; we will live together again. There are the ones who are writing this all, and also the ones running pickups.
A heart beats as its progeny wishes. Lifelong habituals, quickly speared and de-cycled. Time which is unto itself–the crypt and its keeper’s royal ordainment. A life beyond its own presence–a new motion arc.
Not any dueling set. Just life stuck in a place. A whirling similar.
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