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    875928347598347508397523987528372387423874

    as the robins were

    spring cleaning

    the winds of change could

    be distinctly heard whistling

    through every nook, cranny,

    and crevice in the land.

    the wisdom of the wind

    and the whizzing of gunshots

    echoed through his ears.

    his heart was good

    in a layman's sense,

    but his world was collapsing

    around him. his sense

    of reality is widely disputed

    as well... existing.

    what he knows is

    nothing...yesterday what was solid

    is now complete mush.

    yesterday. at present the term

    doesn't even ring a bell.

    time is intertwinned with his

    proverbial world and is very much

    an active member of what

    we will call: team collapse.

    as much as it is not a name

    celebrated in neon lights

    or accompanied by corporate sponsorship

    it is deliberate. that is what it is.

    where is the fairness in reality?

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    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.