An effortless spent
there were always
a march of past days . . .
trusting that no day
is a compete turn off
nor any day
is a complete turn on
that by some other means
inside the parade of it all
we are a procession of beings
both as noun and as verb
and we spend much of each day
in an unknowable refinement . . .
somehow truly liquid
vital and juicy . . .
we
inadvertently wiping away
an invisible drool
with an effortless spent of joy
and possibly not even
ever so slightly aware . . .
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