Coming want pertains to its liftless shadows bent
rendering impossible
all the old conclusions
borne on the breeze of sustainless optimistic, conscious daydreams
like salesmen of old
would believe
they were always on the verge of millions.
A reduceless dank of dark of deepened reticence, diminutive faith in
likeness to reality
of promising futures for a commonweal in erstwhile,
fogged ill-fated
Making it easy to depart forever bereft of ritual farewell, the
dead ardour memory
ceaseless time’s already been seen to quell. A double dire all with
sight can now like me


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