ARGUMENTATION
I shelf the floor, I ante the up, and we all
make out together. Look back, at the planet
now passing behind us; remember that place?
It swiftly took our time away, and left us now
cavorting in the wind of its passing absence.
What then is this life, if nothing more than
reflections and passing things? Who has
dreamed up time, and how have
they time to dream?
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