In color ,we would make notes
To make ourselves more lucid,
That is our new material notes.

Waiting to creep is aged notes,
A gray churchyard in a  drizzle.
Notes are a closure ,a final key.

We make ourselves more clear
To ourselves ,a night’s morons
In the backyard of fallen leaves.

We highlight broken sentences,
Green and blue, to make letters
Less creepy at our page corners.

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