The scraps you smash
through the narrowing slats
don't feel precious
well how about that
The time torrents gushing
both arms to the crooks
write about that
they can read it in books
autumn rolls up its sleeves
shrugs its shoulders way north
casting cold of its eaves
flexes once and goes forth
and I mess with my scraps
bend the line to a loop
someday I'll join the curve
boy won't I get the scoop
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