With only the ordinary
we shape new lie to the land,
extraordinary contour upon which
to dwell and to set our roots
at odd angles to the rise that marks
the divide no longer,

the apropos
no longer becoming rather been,
is seemingly all the rage these days
or are you missing the drift? The rift is
the riff, like the rose was once.

Look at me I’m streaming!

A
lilt,
a
lull-
a-
bye.

© Chagall ∞

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