remixing A portion of Zag Poetry from Two Thousand & Twelve with additions

A game we've all lost, 
tails between 
our tired walking posts 
of meaty fatigue. 
Bastardized by the clock, 
seconds laugh at minutes 
as hours form little pieces 
of solidified juncture.

The Place a mess of unrealized Potential
Of Uneaten ambtion 
Of unclassifiable knowledge
Littered about the haus is a comfort
A disagreeable kind of comfort
That seems to outlive us.


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