A hungry son and I
wandered, a sundry toll was
kept apace by matheme.
He did not warn of wagging,
nor lagging of the soul;
a mind of time behind.
He should have kept it
simple. The genetic toil
to an end. For me, he is
still gliding; I must believe
it. In every instance
the eyes will be questioned,
subjects of a cruel & quiet
prince (a mind of time behind).
In this we see a structure, unnatural.
A constructed bending
of the beams of light.
In this we see a structure.
-the ambassador
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