XII
Chimeric dunes,
flames
ebullient,
trap,
vertex of sludge.
Nuptial
majesty?
Walking stick?
Gnome?
Jokester, my way:
poise,
barren wasteland.
Do you drive me?
The steppe
of your armoire imposes upon me
the guarana
of my rickety shelves.
— David Rosenmann-Taub
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