Keep close every quarter moon.

Straighten out your dorsal root.

I don’t want your words,

and if I’m not mistaken,

you don’t want mine.

We walked in this room

arm-in-arms,

armed with déjà vu bombs

and forgot why I came,

like so many times before.

There is much work to do,

but not around these parts.

Get out of the factory and

back on the farm.

Feel the soil in your soul.

Roll on downtown,

windows down, windy hair.

The wind is the only one left

who knows how to care.

The cadence of every third Saturday

rings like the riddles

of rusted bilingual lust

in the Library of Tongues.

Our Lady of Æquanimitas,

we beseech thee!

Revive the Earthways!

Reclaim Imaginations!

Reform the Nature Deficit!

Right our Roles of Real Work!

The last reserves of secret dreams

are wearing down the Word.

Finally. For good.

Recess is back in session

for all seasons.

Welcome to the Alliance for Self-Actualization.

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