foreclosing
my midsummer night-stick plummets to the depths
fields are hazy with jubilance of youth
with mardi gras of yesteryears
tessellation of an overt variety.
of grains of stalk
grains of sand
attacking the thought we
thought we had conquered
mere effervescence amongst the veil of exuberance
building walls on lands of quick sand
exterminating those means to an end
perpetuating correspondence on deaf ears
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