Out of all the flotsam and jetsam,
From all those loose bits and bobs,
Was broken then when we said some,
Clocks painted over, cause time robs.

Somehow gold dust from under,
Stuck in your soul’s teeth, reach,
Now I can connect love, no plunder,
In my eyes, no reason for a speech.

So many sticky notes across the landmass,
Pull me, don’t use me, I can set us all free,
Apologises for the times smoke from sass,
Regeneration now I can embrace the you through the me.

Filter you all just how you like it done,
Love you all like art in a free exhibition,
If we are gonna do this let’s just run,
Sticky but now sweet is my ambition.

Next level is just get up, just do and move,
Gonna get higher, just to come down to you,
I dance now, I open, 24/7, I stick the groove.
God bless the people who come at me true.

Reversals, before I go, I get stuck too,
Somewhere in those sacred places,
Nestled deep inside, the lot of you,
So many sticky pages in so many faces….so nice to be your glue…
– Thomas Spychalski

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