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PAPER TORN
Paper Torn
This, again, is true to form,
complexity in every line.
This, again, is paper torn.
Bleak ink is painting a pine,
wet, yet drying like cement.
Aim, again, will penetrate
A good neighbor keeps the fence.
Sweat will never hesitate.
Wet, yet drying like cement.
Cleverness has a steel face;
plastic only from afar.
It seems to hesitate.
Much like a river card,
pert for surely one reason,
love looks plastic from afar.
We glimpse at a paradox.
This, again, is true to form,
pious under key and lock!
This, again, is paper torn
PAPER TORN
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