no thing less grounded, abrupt or unsettled
as dirt skirted on gravel
by a foot turned around or caught on its heel,
taken aback by dusty trails left by its mettle, lingering
footprints in circles, hints of paces unhinged
like the toll of a handless clock-face
reaching... for hours!
disarmed and forgotten across binary plains
digital landscapes whose green lies in neon
or kneels at the feet of ungodly trust funds
where was i when the great shift eroded the simplest of mortar to pestilence?
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