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When bomb spells B.O.O.M
Blocks recite D.O.O.M
Leg races against its seeds
Falling to the mountain’s feet.
Timing punishment; rattling thoughts
Desires whisk away with the moon
As it runs back and forth
Like a pendulum in its self-contained room.
Wandering leggy legs
Lost in gathering hays
Like a lamb in red
Drinking from its salty lake.
The steaming flavour
Falling like rainfall
Making heaps of ridge
Growing without wings.
Confusion is a delicacy
Well spiced to taste
Its aroma buries rest
As we devour and fret.
Penwizzola

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