Time
Passes
So Slowly
That souls
Become holy
By dipping their fingers in wine.
.
But
Somehow
The
Silence
Sets up
A defiance
So that my own thoughts are not mine.
.
And
Then the
Controls
Go
When singing
The soul’s woe
For all of the feelings aren’t fine.
.
But
What does
It
Matter
If former’s
Not latter
As long as we’re able to dine?
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