A thousand million mosquito feast on flesh
deprived of necessary nourishment
Suckle gurgle twist and boil, frolic fantasy,
A thousand million squashed to death.
Boy, on stoop a sacred glow of sacrament
tested vigor lots of rigor, conventions
Yet body language inventions cry out:
"Callous world, take my remains!"
The river lies calm, untouched magnificence,
shine, shade's reflection,
through thick and thin and interaction;
which is real?
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