Close to an extinction,
you might want to notate things.
Nets. Hair. Cell phone conversations.
Some prodrome.
No, not governmental idiocy.
The proverbial inside...
I'm not sure.
All these billions
of people are really just suggested,
gentle suggestions. Isn't
that beautiful? A thunderstorm
surrounds the church
where a gaybo organist plays Bach.
I find my life runs out of questions.
Maybe I am blessed, after all.
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