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Transgression
Passages in a grey stone.
Trials by the softest touch
and vessels of dis-content.
Draw a momemt,
a picture past.
It disregards it's own story.
The intangible becomes
immortal.
A closed mouth
can still bite a wagging tongue.
A revolution?
spins in place.
and the hand cold and open,
has lost the will to fight.
