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We have returned,
From a no-named world
where skinny brown trees of muse
bore trite words
to feed starved lungs
The performance
of golden sandstorms
Roasted-looking leaves
rise and fall
in obedience to the rotten wave
For two full moon,
my pallid pen lodged in this world
where writers are blocked
from celestial overflow
of words and imagery
that paint our thoughts
in black and white!
