Look at those socks

I discovered a poem that I wrote beneath the stars at 13,000 ft.

The pretense of purpose                         a purpose for whom only later latter day student toils      but the debt  is paid to a surface

a pure surface                  Fully rehearsed rhapsodies      because impressed dressed and rhythmically refined             Sing me praises so you may too secure yours              and I promise not    to     tell    anyone                     we were pretending

Imagination rich and pockets      too                          Look at those socks

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