She has no idea she has no idea
Within her psyche vein drops mitigate
The tempus fugue of dissonance
Framed then packaged then dispersed qua nurture
To inhabitants of curvy-lined locales
Lusting for hard sharp boundaries
To be claimed as owned replete with bones
That would preclude intrusion
As if petulant desire sufficed to shift identity
From safekeeping to pliable as defined
By minds seeking to self bloat
Beneath whole clouds invis-appearing as if
To tame an otherwise flat blue sky
Unadorned by artists' nudges and kind eyes
Absorbing what is there or will be
Soon broken by advances into seasons left for bread
Crumbs to feed outliers who belong here
And whose guests we always are
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