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Cycles

Like a dandelion,
I plucked and blew away your love,
only to find it take root in the most unexpected places.

The clock moved from 12 to 3;
Your placebo seeds dissolve into flesh,
rotting from the inside out….
the trunk of my delusions
absconds from its naive preface.

The clock moved from 3 to 6;
We look for meaning in trivial expressions
and emphatically claim them as significant to ourselves, deceived…
engraining these ‘truths’ in our skin, we loose perspective.

The clock moved from 6 to 9;
Let exploitation eat away the legitimacy of your righteousness…
questions now end with explanation points,
and all sentences now with question marks.

The clock moves from 9 to 12 powered by words unspoken,
time carves it’s path
and I help you along with sprained ankles,
love concealing my limp.



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