A time for you.
Pulse,
The gun fires again.
Not to bowl you over
But this one is permanent
Persistent
And always patient.
A monster for progress.
Hold on for your dollars
Those britches are flying in the wind
All spiders floating on the breeze
In dismay.
An aura of pretense, well away.
Maybe the cupboards are closing
Shelves stocked with feuding
A popular structure
Well away.
No harbor,
Apropos to name.
A motion to elect
Sonnet made
Frame of mind
Polished wane
A moon's delight
No more mimicry or tinkering in the bitter leaves of vanity.
A motion of delivery
Style of dictation
Spit and polish.
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