Teaching Sincerity

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poem is about nobody in particular

great teacher, though she couldn't teach sincerity, you see you have to first master it yourself snag it in the silky shadows of yourself but it travels at the speed of time... how to make a time snare, only the shaman know but they're all dead or dying at least the good ones are, the ones who used to spread mud over the skin of life to purify it back in the infancy of time now everything is made of plastic wrapped in sable you can't teach sincerity or can't snare time, nor hide the stench of plastic

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