peeling the feeling i read that language
compassion is yours for me and more
akin to the fractured golden
silences waiting timelessly around us
but sadness not for me not for you
sadness of surfaces that refuse restitution
hurtling headlong in a time of terrible ambiguity
sadness of the incomprehesible
of words that crumble and dissipate
engendering looming monsters where once was beauty
like a pungent tea the savor of irony rises.
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