Quiet goes the fraction into illustration,
as though inference were bread to feed the human.
Your caliber strains the faculty of belief.
Just one pronouncement comprises mediation.
Lasting moments tense otherwise ripe elastic.
Indivisible comes crashing down on justice.
". . . 'Tis of thee," spoke the prophet, as though eavesdropping.
One of us is doomed to be called professional.
High stakes, cold snakes, posture after posture lakeside.
This early stuff of chemistry fills camisoles.
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