5 poems cheap

Language is just. 
A trick no-trick:
to lead from yourself
in each moment so fit!
That no one would ever believe
it of you.Yet they have to admit 
the advantage.

True.
Since at
every each pause
you have played no game.
How you gave yourself up
by ulterior aim laid pure
every time, and plain in view.
Quite before you could know!
How could this be true? Can
you get free and clear, clean, 
fine, so-so? Every time
no one ever would buy
something never once
sold, oh no. 

In each consequence 
every moment unbound
frees you up by ungodly extents 
to a mindful and thoughtless 
effortless, valid, sound bent,
by a character arc biased hard 
in known points: aiming
right straight through as
a matter off-course in a
wave-function particle 
line-cut you. 

You might think no one could 
believe in you, but why would
you want two doing something
so dumb? You're the one freed 
up. Let it be so, mote. Do not 
want, lack, need their belief 
in you.

'Cause eventually... 
sans manipulate, no no influence
mate! They've
no
option
but 
two.