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Aug. 12th, 2022|10:31 am

In the classroom I am doing lines,
Evening comes and goes, night's one dusty curtain,
I did not behave, so I must pay the price
Ante mortem, in morte and postmortem.

I am doing life lines, and don't they come out sharp,
I am doing love lines, never too smooth or pretty,
Letters and syllables, you cannot tell them apart,
Have to be torn apart, well if that's what they want, then let'em.

How'd we end up here, of all the places,
By a quirk of fate, on the flip side of divine grace,
Our pulse tempered by the pace of
Time in a grandfather clock, smile cracking through its face,

We are taught to expect up and above the skies
Soaring eagles or lions, manes made of fires,
Bulls of the night, full of enigmatic eyes
Dark with sarcasm - in the classroom we're doing lines.
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