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When the grime
of tempo’s esprit regressions
cling
as lint to the soul,
a suspiration of flushed ink
cleanses the eyes
and revives
one’s gaze
with sight
that is whole.
Drinking
from the fount of speaking points
and lured by the scent
of glistening motive silhouettes,
the orb’s with oracle affinity
search in hunger
for the veiled marker
leading to the kitchen
where appetizers
are seasoned with perspicacity’s sprinkles.
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