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a flooded field of insignificance as informed by senses well formed by screens and old fashioned ism's. a race to fill the cup, walk faster, dump into a waiting cup on the other side of a line drawn in the sand, the dog days are treating me well, employment eggs the clock on, to come forward, show itself, give a new sense of newness to the passing minutes and appreciation to the slowly wilting leaves of neglected trees. a telling silence fills the nights, listening hard, one can hear the morning coming. of course, sonically decadent nights in a basement have left me not hearing so well, and my eyes can't fill fast enough..........
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