Steep stipulations of stupendous undulations
circumcised by the price and its crying spies
where I and many such eyes fall in solitude
with weird congregations that breaks one stations
and all tired what not and a pot of hot shot
aims at claims of purity soaked in the one shame.

No promise, no matter how old or bold,
can retake that one shake space of solitude
where all circumstance grows old
and all instances are finally imbued.

Coins of old belonging and ownership
finally falls for fraternities of flip and dip.

All is motion and so what.