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The American dream
had a tough childhood
and is developing symptoms
of a sinkhole personality

I take back everything
I said about the Panama Canal
there's nothing wrong
about being artificial
so long as it brings others together

If we bring it down to eye level
Mr. Paranoia feels outnumbered
the fruits of his labor
are all store bought

There are no more
drive-in movies within
walking distance
'cause Cinderella's dead
says the cult leader
Sand witches, solar sisters, they are the
west coast in this part of the cosmos,
tied to the hip with American thighs
and Brazilian otherwise, donning
catamaran bottoms the color of
red liquorice and snuggly
they sit at their
international
dateline
as if by
magic
The only cure for me
Is your voice
And
I admire the
Stunning
Bottle
It
Comes
In
The sound of a voice can heal better than printed words
when in greatest need
love becomes most real-

love comes to sustain-
cradle its child.
One day I'll learn, it all comes clear,
What purpose did my actions bear?
Was it trivial, a fleeting trace?
The worries that clouded my mental space?

Perhaps it all connected unseen,
A beautiful pattern, a vibrant sheen.
Destiny's a game, the path unclear,
But like leaves changing hues, the answer will appear.

Hold your horses, calm your mind's rage,
There's mercy in time, wisdom on each page.
Level up your perspective, find a new sight,
Embrace the journey, bathed in golden light.
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