1h
Shared with Public
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https://youtu.be/GHINtVDw-sI
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The world was never simple.
It never promised bliss.
So say the brothers Dalrymple –
Horace, Joe and Chris –
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consumed by planting runner grasses
from the genus Chloris,
"which all but shoot out of our asses,"
snorts the frazzled Horace.
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They sow their seed from Ulm to Rome
but like abandoned orphans
the runner grasses run back home
to boost their grass endorphins.
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(True home has no equivalent.)
Stress on Horace, Chris & Joe
expands beyond ambivalent.
What’s ahead? What can one know?
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Doing, being, going! That or there
or this! It may not reassure these three
to learn they are exactly where,
have always been what, they should be:
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at the brink of fresh disasters
pulling at them – with dependable
demonic tricks each brother masters
to make them seem emendable.
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But say to the Dalrymple boys,
brave Horace, Joe and Chris:
The world has complicated joys
wherein sometimes there’s bliss.
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