the waterman flows
a sludgy river, oozing,
its way in slimy grace
pudding along to
some polluted sea
words splat on this page
a would be virtuoso expiring
on a shakespearean stage
some avante garde production
of a play no one likes
the sun... sets hopelessy
whilst dawning indifferntly
in someone else's tomorrow
where they will bake, globally warm,
this new existentialism
city of broad shoulders
ides of may
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