we may have run out of random excuses tied on the back of a very long list of emotional quatrains, flowing around rhymed nothingness seeking relief from rhymed lines out of time, mystical signs can you believe them when nothing comes to be the lightened sublime fades in the sunlight scatterbrained egos run like mice repentant gossips scurried like jumping dice we cautiously looked around the restaurant and saw, tables of two holding hands tables of one, sat a darkened clam with brocolli picks she walked out onto the street with her secret thinking nobody sees, nobody knows leaving the soup in the kitchen for tea laughing at nothing, nothing that made sense...
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