Suppose what you dispose
will be nurtured by nature
Maybe wiped clean
by a proper god
come again?
Use clay, land and water, for making
flutes and pots for growing
pot on top
Flags don’t have the wind
any which way as it toys
with the symbol and chimes
flailing what you grip
Take a trippy trip, crowd
the lonely woodland cabin
Distress is vintage
these days are mint
The world perks, turns and listens
through a ruptured drum
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