When the base is the same
Pen which has flown from the left to the right,
Pen which has flown from the left to the right,
Its juice traversed
with lacerated lines
Of a particular nature,
Suddenly instructed to
squirm in a different direction
How would it know this
world, these grooves!
When the base is the
same
Forms and figures, in
their rights and their wrongs,
How would it know
there’s song in the thorns!
When the base is the
same
Identification is the
malice
Virtues of times that
left, shredded as vices bereft,
With fences that flew
with snailed experience!
The mural morality
that excludes, has known only that,
Through twists and
turns with bruises and burns,
Decors into humanity
that includes, nothing other than that,
Ready to secrete the
essence!
When the base is the
same
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