Thursday, September 29, 2011

If you want new, stop talking old

Let’s pretend...

Was gets fuzzy until its bleached
bounty doesn’t give much
that matters;

Must can’t make a fuss about it,
its bluster’s dwindling
to short breaths;

Had has fled the trap: colorless
maps wrapping its bad

We shakes its slate, lines erase, but
the dots await clean

The end.
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