This cumulative match-and-trace become brand
new, fold-fold fate toy and bent over flexural
until the last one was resembling a true totem
grimly passing with a too-tonal battery of
the bright ones in the splash for enough a time
slips out the back gate and is never heard. By and by
her wake-and-braid is unmade by lunchtime
and is only one-half your fault you’re doubting
the reference, even, between this and sister’s juju
worn as an anklet, savvy; worn around the neck, none.
You’ll have it off by sundown, and the clouds to mark us
just one step outside the compound as downfelled.
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