WREST TO RUST
Tiptoes require time
Lathered words do not
a philosopher make
The cook shines like shit
in the moonlight
Hunger will eat through
strongboxes of sour rains
An old woman dances
leaves her troubles in her clothes
I turn faster than a weathercock
my mind a cage of candles
Show patience, touch me like wool
dipped in a winter brook
My bladder an empty cloud
goes slowly, goes far
Let the ankle roll
it will right itself
TYPO
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