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Thinking about the park when it's closed

all life is movement

all movement’s not life

 

I found this out recently

as my past few decades would testify

 

that impatience I took as dedication

revealed itself to me

 

as just another neuroses 

one in a series of many

 

I try to work slowly now 

I openly imitate those trees

 

you find swaying in a storm 

on most days still standing

 

with bugs running up and down 

its crotch

◄ The King of Sweet Nothings

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