the round robin games
stop short and fall into open and bleak crevices
stealth and shortness of breath combine
to create heady obtuse riddles.
patiently and ripe with intent
the fruit is set alone in dark corners
to rot and mold and stench
to eradicate its essense and transform
into spores. to flee and multiply
and invade asthmatic breathing tubes
i stop, turn and with a giant hose
destroy the filth.
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