embedded in the rogue culture I toss
and turn pages this was my mistake I
belong to another misled by a garden
but who doubts they are dead or new
potatoes now that the last are traded
for eggs the chicks quickly chickenish
why did I believe the clearly contrived
illusion of permanence that only lasts
as long as you are willing to do work
even then hollow promises not said
don't count against chance accident
slow movement of the earth's crust
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