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On shingle of sadness,

over stones thrown

in idle thought,

cascading, rippling over

a seaful of memories…


Over surfeited surfaces,

smoothed of flaws,

soothed from flaws…


I searched…


I searched for

grafts fashioned

from wordy pretense,

for reasons to device

new reasons for sinful

conceited existence.


And wondered, are there any?

3 thoughts on “Conceited Existence

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