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Like two dry mountains
That crumbled one after the other
No thought had been taken
As to where the brittlest bits would fall this time.
It was rote, the action of chewing
But it got more difficult to see
Who would be the victims,
The sandwich or its makers.
That perplexed me is the colour of lines
I cannot fathom
An awkward smile from under a laugh rises
Like more mountains making cast shadows on that plate.