Take my feet off
before I walk across 
this defeat street.
Roads, like houses,
always win.

I want those spoils
(gold always rots).
Sidebards encourage
shaken peers
to stir themselves into 
cockatiel tails 
to take on the oneverse
and ideate a solution
to the problem of everything.

The desire to stop early says
and delay the advanced invective
whose imminent retirement
is funded by the pension 
of a thousand stolen souls.

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