(an analysis of
discourse)
this then is the sphere where
only the time is a can
standing next
to a book on the window sill
outside
a drab grit in blue and then x amount of dust
overflowing acrimony sand
as a town "goes up in flames"
and down in unsure bolted memory
they run in from where a community
volunteer's a scared crow for a
green flame a core of freedom
smashed by geezers (no humor there the
dry dock's a dry rot for
repairing geographic node-points
a motel
for hiding in the peppery thwart
like
inhaling smoke or the whispering
memo
a scarified subaltern w totally
new
unventilated inexperience
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