standard air, or

qualitative: smells like
and is measurably
full of particulate 
future clouds
whose rain you wouldn't 
send to the southwest
unless you lost your moral
compass decades back

silently, the gray spring is upon
us, the conceptual more than one
that means something to some
everything to others
and nothing to utility

breather deeper, it's a 
break in the real
beaker in whose
angular glass
the eye is drawn

and if seeing won't believe
this hearing will always scent off

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