Clocks Of Good Quality
Clocks, books, circles, and signs nip the air,
Programming thoughts with their willingness,
Through the nightmares and dreams of a day.
My fortunes are numberless, fending for themselves
Like good gold pieces, of the hiding variety,
Underneath the bed of the sea where there is colour.
You have ascertained the quality of a day
That judges the feelings of a major variety,
Fully the really interrogative thought is misplaced.
My circles and books are generally obsolete,
Like a sphinx or awesome wasp of the highness
That stings and bites with blurs and size.
What quality is there in the binding of a book?
Feelings are heard from the tongue,
As the tongue of the heart flaps and discourages.
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