in this place
an idea
i want to
take this thing
to form in words
to construct
something worthwhile
a beacon
maybe just a bent signpost
to be ignored
but there nonetheless
it spills out
to be raised as children
liquid mirrors
they flow
they become new
but they always are
what they were
no matter
what the are
or will be
there is a thread

c o n t i n u i t y

like a hall
strewn with waste
let us gather it up
put it
in its place
in the bin
to be carted away
in all its castoff glory
still does life find a way
to grow in the shit
while night scavengers
dig out the best of the worst
and nothing can be said
to have been done
for nothing

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