A respectful disagreement stems from:
no life is not very long, your time
measured in strands is so long.
We couldn't stop being the hollow men,
our slowly deviated whimpers
buttoning a coat of straw and dust;
searching for a recipe for whatever,
slipping index finger into a wound
fleshing out like a jellyfish -
tender and arched - so lengthy;
a snap and a half, a fluid
acridity; for thine is the time.
Woven within the feathers is
something else - a ripple,
an abscess creeping on numbers.
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