I don't know why the world turns.
My personal satellite is powered by poetry:
some reality, lots of fantasy,
a bit of structure, mostly free form,
murmuring ancestors, bruised skin,
depths, edges, crevices, wants,
tears of honey and salt,
fields of grief
lifted from the daily news.
9 lines--form is a lutetium--71st periodic element--71 syllables--form created by me for my 71st birthday.
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