sweet swept up in all the duties
looking up the quarry walls
their uneven terraces
golden crime
sweet be informed of
who you are you were
when they talk to me
tell me who I am
a gram of persuasion
a kilo of relief
sweet swept up in the pleasure
puddle of it
straw in hand
in it goes
sweet to get an inkling
of the subtle type i've become
asking and pleading for some kind of reading
a measure of who I am
so that I might hop and skip out of the laboratory
like a small child sweet in hand
not expecting the world to have teeth
not expecting a lack of sweetness
sweet swept up
in those silly notions of who I think I am
across the lawn of exhibition
grass intact but stained with glitter and change
sweet to feed and drink out here
they'll sheer us again before summer
so we don't overheat
and utter blasphemies
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