Sometimes again just ain’t a problem.
This isn’t sundries or breathing.
This isn’t expectations or obligations.
But it’s still belonging of a sort.
Drumbeats are important.
All the weathers have their place.
Both time and space can find themselves in the ingredients far before the 50s.
Fire and wheels and wheels on fire.
I mean, circus tricks, sleight of hand, misdirection.
Spring flowers or Spring, just ten more minutes.
Days, hopes, recombinations, dreams.
That which is which which will be again and again.
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