Rumpled grey matter
Grasps endlessly at
Slippery ticks of the pendulum-
Pointing to spice-decked sepulchres.
Meanders plague the sunless
Trip, manna fail the thoughtless
Feet, why are the
Clouds enceinte with bane?
Baboon's butt has no gain.
Help. The yelp- a drowning voice
The sky, its tears- our flooded choices.
Death.
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