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Time is my victim!
I sell boredom with sentences.

Sunshine stokes iridescent smoky steam
behind closed eyelids,

but

my semblance of thought shudders to halt and
gray skies cloud clear conscience,

when

it sets in that an exercise in pretentious futility
is this poem of utterly pompous nonsensical utterances.
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Submitted on
January 19, 2006
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