Powerful

Gathering just-a-bit-o moss

Once again, a dissenting woe
gives lie to night’s
beckon

Once again, you are tried,
tired; as the gong
blisters,

As the mention of sweet
morn glistens the
glands,

Time weeps a river.

When does the sentence fall off the page
& a new oblivion step up picking up this

Wire of dawn? Where do the stains of ink
Perspire if not in the nooks of harm and

The shade of a lower noon? Lower than an
Inch? Wiser than the tooth that carves I

The forbidden spark of a thousand
boasts

What? we care the plenitude into
a stare

We blink coalesce morph stipulate
tinyness

Into being the spark has been
used/ful

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