Grains of Surplus

A clever cacophony of chaos
Municipal monarchs mostly man-made
The village hums electric
A canopy of innovation
A parade of clay gears tick
Water spins clean vibration
And we ride the wave as a part of us
Our mother, our sun, we all are one
Fire and smells of food cooking
We feel the grains of surplus sift through our fingers, knowing they can easily be reclaimed

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