Voices as a racket
Hatches of tired imaginations
Fascinated by the newness
Bagging all of the beauty
How easily the mood changes
One more moment of walking
This time for the real one
This time without improvisation
A total absence of creation
Insufficient bounds
Sailing upon steam-packets
Catches of breath's paginations
Animated by the shrewd
Nagging to undo
How much harder; doubt
Dulls the thoughts now aged
This time for the real one
This time without a guide
To the left-field of light
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