Blessed with opulence/like a stoplights’ peril,/like prisms from cracks on crystal/silent world as redeemer/ stifles a silent winner./Our hero of the moment,/restrains his efforts/ sounds out the tones within him/they make him violent/.Something approximate to his mind/ answers him but off target./He knows the price of a dime/he carries it within him
No Luck Probable
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Poetry in Motion 