There is a plant in my garden,
It stutters an inch everyday.
And all around it are wires & cables
to make me frolic and play.
It raves with the quagmire,
Trembling into august splendor...
Among other flowers, it sprays
Resplendent ashes that flow from within
the corpus of its meaning,
enshrouded inside capillaries of language.
What are these words,
that fly about in an epileptic fit?
Surely they are not stimulants,
neither slits about the human body...
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