To Derrida (pun intended):
Regarding the rant that follows, it would be apt to say that I graduated. What you attempt to read below are the delightful details of that duplicitous development that I leave you to deconstruct.

A man drones.
Black robed children look awkwardly
At one another's sweat stained

The man made drones.
Blue robed gentlemen are lit up
As they swell with heavy

A dozen eggs got some gold;
One procured silver too.
They seem expressly

Another begins his art of elocution
Sanguine, he looks.
Almost like a smug

A group of vultures
Sit patiently on white branches.
They await their

The stomach rumbles
The face drops
The feet are numb
The mind is non existent.

I'm out.

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