You must clutch the leather
sagging below the waterline.
Trees don't matter to the ragworts of industry.
Handle the ruptured portions with care.
Celestial bankruptcies repair themselves,
but we are not certain about tigers.
There's a common time of day
when the professors all align
themselves into a new formation
heralding the Coventry of the reborn.
Stranded gravitational ribbons loosely
bound in the wakes of passing stars
found drifting too far off course by
the latter day sanitation workers
are collected into lambent energy bytes
on leave to orbital docking upon
any issues derived from nomenclature
on up the ladder of opportunity
as they said in the orrery at the top
of the winding staircase down
in the darkness of the cellar dropped
creeping up an inch on us every day.
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