Morphing Sooner

The stratagem lets me move /to my next excuse/-don’t come this way for nothing-/takes it’s place as apparition./An empty space,/ go there with speed and power/no exertion no impact:/clearly without limits./I’m watchful of you, /I arch and bend// send out matter of fact thrills/in your general direction.I bring you bottled water,/I plant a firm grip/ on your little head,/I need to know the names,/ of towns that are your sources./Don’t try and hurt me, even when I tell lies,/I won’t rule out the breeze/contained in your petty glories./Artists, with easels full brushed,/ don’t trust our welcomes,/ our empty currents,/past masters with cataracts/ who lean on staffs./ I can’t move my arms other than in circles/I swim in your amber syrups,/ I find out what you do./I am old, I need to know.

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