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Disaster Theory's Interests
General
I wanna hear a poem
where ideas
kiss similes so deeply
that
metaphors get jealous,
where the subject matters
so much
that adjectives start holding
pro-noun rallies at city hall.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
