Gods chase
Round vase.
What say?
What play?
Don't know.
Nice, though.
Desmond Skirrow
The world is a poem. Sentient beings write the world-poem every day, thus creating the world; breathing, dreaming, waking, walking, kissing, arguing, racing, crawling, on our knees, suspended in mid jump over a gutter, sleeping under a tree, toiling at work, digging deeper. Join me.
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