Yearlong Sonnet-- Iteration 43

His re-ghosted loamness likes to regain
the unharness of a rocked snooze;
dogs bark @ the parked cars’ rain—
clearly we’ve again lost the blues.
If we find it, that’ll be news!
like a sun-filled pine cone landing on a train.
It may be that then we’ll have to refrain
from an agony pumped up with logic-dues.

Clicking slender bursts without surface
is the way to get ahead. Moistly like us
fold the phrases like me. Not like us
is the dribbleglassed-together purpose
that keeps focued on this, our nerdness.
In space, i heard the fedback mike fuss.

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