the remainders of a compassionate quarrel
with eyes down
i walked alone on the walk
i could see every trampled flower stalk
each uprooted root
if these cracks in the cement could talk
what man would they disrepute?
some things know all secrets,
each dastardly wicked role
the minute dirts and grits
that lie,
fallen,
within the deepest cracks of our soul
-Pamplemousse
-Pamplemousse
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