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It All Just Moves

How strands the osmosis
of leather colored blues?
What a heart of man,
mad in touch,
coiled for a line,
relentless in its breadth.
Some bleeding ass
of fatherless questions,
resourceful, stifling,
has taken over.
One holds
such a comic thread of illusions.
One autumn slate bare canvas,
one white lighter,
one song of the self, bloated with apathy.
Nothing stays,
Nothing goes,
It all just moves,
Shifting shadows above the panes.

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