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Arms beneathe

There is magic on events
Chasing the modicum of hour
Where everything takes a turn
With rigs in force and power
Unfolding their heads to bloom
Like shooting early flowers
Exhaling din or surprises boom
Onto your platter that open lies
Ever for mechanisms on work
That a chemistry odd combines
And all we knew remains a quirk
For the past but faces East;
Balistics are the worst on clock
To share the whole conduit and feast
Sometimes to fill us with shock
Sometimes to stand and sweep
Off chance of its peer for a seat
That with billows wavering against
sleep
Conclude to redound  and  cheat.

(2015)

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