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28:62 PAM
Softest beats of tick-tocking clock-
tracked my talk, with heart.
Tackling sounds of tangible rhythm
that flew into air, as aeroplane taking off,
as cascade of coffee drops, from tired espresso,
so rhythmic, metric and pathetic...
no no...I felt like Patrick of Ireland.
Hinged against door
there is a lion made of aluminum
a nocturnal creature like me,
and i saw the roaring hungry beast, all night
pleading some mystic force to release.
As creature dreaming of renaissance
with hands flowing on wavy beard
I thought of the daying night,
oops, the dying night
as a lucid star puffed mirages onto my heart
driving me to see talking clock...
I saw planets revolving round it
whispering stars, staggering clouds
and finally a sunny clock rose
in that narrow dream of mine
showing time, 28:62 PAM!
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