yes another old one...

This blue orb spinning

Pushed out gravitational force so strong

Sent it out to the tin cans tied with string

The children conspiring

Puckered lips of the mailman whistling

Morse code.

Finally, shot back down to me

All the lines and grids and black streaks

Careening cars of what sincerity

Has forged to bring such words

Amidst the wreckage

In making sense of this world.

We’re left with

Sticky rice

Lumpy oatmeal

What to make from all of this.

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