Only in life
We are struck to live images
Mired into our becoming -
to path, or self aggrandizing
It always crumbles down
to dust
Which breath space and time
Taking an invisible shape
Heart have an aortic beat
And, all seems oxygenated
to have an eclectic feel
What Is, is the rumbling of my existence per se
I have the charm of a mendicant:
By begging I live
By faith I owe myself a grave
Frugality is parceled to it's utmost end
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