Six of one, half-dozen of the other;
The hours creep along,
the sharp edge of a century.
Left by the wayside, my ambitions,
for another time’s pick-up.
Table the motion.
Six of one, half-dozen of the other;
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Days hobble like a herd of handicapped gazelle.
After how-are-yous
good-and-yous
we talk about the weather, and little else.
