Ochre marks a milestone in that crossing .
From march to March : scarlet, the river runs .
*[ WSB ].
*[ WSB ].
Finds harbor
By sum device
Of aesthetic twine
That hogties
Nous with design :
Sounds atavic time .
Din hovers,
Fills the divide,
Rounds pathetic rhyme .
*[ WSB ].
The sick and the well :
The grouping .
Not moving ; but removed .
So tired .
Fatigue pats you lovingly,
Murmuring, “ There, there . ”
— “ Shhh . ”
No impetus at all, from all
That inpired prior
The virus .
*[ WSB ].
No turtles that paddle distantly down;
No planets rattle around terra lown.
No dome with windows flung open to rain;
No storm god in blue scopes an icebound plain.
*[ WSB ].
Ready, set :
To go
At a moments notice .
The air between the stars billows
Black, and swallows any shimmer .
*[ WSB ].


*[ WSB ].
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*[ WSB ].

A tired juggler .
A spurting performance
Of ergs out of sync :
Misspoken symbols clash .
Back and forth futility
Crashes to the ground:
The stage indifferent .

*[ WSB ].


*[ WSB ].

“ The pruning of justice ™ ”