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Native Broomsticks Constanza
On brown native broomsticks I stood
to make my sweeper-dreams come true
thing-and-being's smooth flow blazing through
I the sweeper of killer-moods
undaunted by evil's mirage wins,
I breeze-and-friction-created means.
Which devour like termites in wood;
which work by strength of tough biceps,
and here-and-there elbow and wrist steps.
An arm I am which created good
when an eye-sore provoked reflex deeds
at a state-collapse time as this
where diamond-strong evils have stood.
knocking down virtue and justice,
till arms-on-broom would seize office
Yet in glory, brooms are not viewed.
They are only used and just dumped
or abandoned like a tree stump
*
On brown native broomsticks I stood
I the sweeper of killer-moods
which devour like termites in wood;
An arm I am which created good
where diamond-strong evils stood.
Yet in glory, brooms are not viewed.
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