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Fundamental Particles

Spun skillfully a milky way the net cast over the waters 

 


one last sporting throw for all the world in slow motion

 


for the feast or famine guiding hand or chaos

 


it would seem a good idea further back-pedalling

 


read a hundred fictions delivered slowly

 


time suspended high in a cosy bubble 

 


the net thrown finds its crux in a job well done

 


as spider silk blowing across the morning

 

 

◄ Luck

Swami Speaks ►

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