ready, steady, go...

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    ready, steady, go...

    Rats running a temporal race
    Coveting pellets of progress
    Reticent observers
    Ensure confusion
    Quintessential ingredient for failure.



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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    bastidastribe7’s Poems (30)

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