After he wrote his name in the snow,
He ate his last word,
Which tasted wet and in need of work
Off his tempo,
The language ceased to fit his demeanor,
As if his previous arrangements were just acting,
With a role in which he was overmatched
Symbolism just another delay tactic until he found his new form,
All the time sucking hyperbole through a straw,
Wondering if cohesion would ever be a part of his sentence structure again
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