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Twin sails are disappearing in your eyes,
they are too bottomless for sonar-pings,
a stormfront nears to fill up empty skies
and kills all vessels, fit for beggars, kings.
Two tones from a variety of strings
reverberate in snych with the machines
which pull and push a saltless surf that clings
to shallow coasts and hollow in-betweens.
Let`s pull the plug, let`s blank those TV screens
with blank that is significant and brings
relief for relatives, an end to hopeless scenes
where all are listening but no one sings.
I can imagine an unheared farewell,
but what I see is a discarded shell.



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The following comments are for "Bottom"
by Sneaky





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