a short poem about sponsorship - Gord - Aspoet
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Gord

2020-10-28 10:14 am
Writing one hundred pages,
It turns out to be permanent makeup,
Not exactly an act of nature, 
Rather products of one's labor,
Tattooed to the skin with lasers. 

Other people, Other places
A number of changes, fables;
One's mind, the world adjacent.

Fine, just fine,
Never find time,
Why bother in the prime of life,
When eyes stretch beyond the tide.

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