Unintended Poetry of intention.

Man will look to man for the meaning of life. Life looks at man, the meaning of life. Finery finesses the soulless. The souls soak up the sun. The rays only shielded by Au, mailable to fit the wicked of the wickedest. A wicker chair will be sat on by all willing to sit. Take me back to before cuneiform, I do not belong here. So I will sway with the wind and soak up the sun.

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