>"Nothing Changes" One Shot Wednesday #38

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Roots hang from trees that
have been there many years,
winding round the air with grace,
grabbing nourishment.   
Releasing what’s not consumed,
misguided aspirations.
Leaves hang from branches that
have been there a few days,
drooping with no finesse,
beaten down by heat,
seeking life or
subversion.
It’s a Grand Guignol
accompanied like a plague.
Taut skin stretched becomes
unglamorous
as melodrama unfolds
making things indivisible.
Sub-genre can make for bad theatre
grotesque.
Its conformity has me
lost in a sea of bullshit
lies.  
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