chains upon the ground
a way out
won’t be found
or locked and chained
a hard-swallow
gulp next
discarded characters on the ground
waiting to be used
by an unlettered society
the Tibetan loses himself
to oneness and zeroness
writes his self-elegy
they embrace each other
with abandon
became slaves of passion
a con, a shell game, an illusion
folding unencumbered
from the heavy obstructed lines
design without function
open and unfettered
often and under-prepared
inconceivable overspending
on the G20 travesty
anxious and unlettered
road-sourcing
useless floating in October wind
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