All taken and all scraped there is a vine twist
We shed out noise and our boys to a higher elemental doctrine, there on top the blueberries
Writing scripts and shredding Rx
Do we have a vision for it? Or, have we no vision?
It's up to the anesthesia and broken weepers
As the thread is needled and we scope our cotton paintings
A man arrives
Glued to his sheets with fuzzy earplugs
He knows what's best, and sometimes, listening is all we can do, or all we do do, and it happens
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