They’re quite like two men I know
who keep a steady rhythm:
chill, seldom prone to outbursts,
could be mistaken for low throttle
on occasion.
Odd they’re drawn to me,
a site of thunderous weeping
and murderous applause.
Poking with a stick. Looking for the crevice that started everything. A vague meandering led to the science of destruction. Big budget nigh...
Nature seeks balance, that union of opposites, he she me you it, words, all words
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