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The Age of Wearing Glasses

The fields icy
fresh, allowing purple
light, dawn.
Towns of
anything call
people, people
the enticing.
Average shapes become
mordant, proclaiming
the redundancy of
difference.
Child’s play initiates
transport to gardens.
Mild exuberance,
remember the tremendous
prank. 
Townfolk, townfolk, townfolk,
yet the book is
unreadable.
Merry seasons fill
the blue sky.
Ouster impresses. 
Each singular leaf reminds the tree,
and the intending distance of time.
So forks reside with the spoons
as do all spurious details.
We await the
Confessional Poets to
give their clue.
The all of anything becomes
the instant something,
known to melt
the ocean.

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