He walked with a heavy step

like a giant over autumn leaves.

His eyes were hard on the path,

avoiding dead ends and blind corners.

He murmurs prophecies, steamed to the

surface from past vowels

wasted on youth. His strength is

formed strongly in posture and self

confidence; pillars stretching over

years. He enjoys gray moon shadows

and the warmth of an August sun.

His clothes are standard, outliving fads

and the style of waste. He bends through

the day, becoming the spinoff of his own



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