A wasp with a broken wing crawling through the grass.
Scurrying from irony to irony, watching how they pass.
A cat hopped the fence post by the waste bin.
A quiet, graceful step for every sneaky sin.
Another bottle with smoke escaping the top.
Nothing different from Dayton, Ohio to a quiet village on an English countryside.
The bird that eats the olives captured by the snake on the vine.
Escaping truth and life left behind.
Twisted necklaces and wasted time,
Echoed the halls while I marched in time.
Oh, put away the wine, hide the sun.
We’re all almost caught with what we’ve done.
My flask can only spill what it contains.
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