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Rubbish
A plastic bag picking up the breeze
handles down and bottom up
sucking into itself a corner tuck.
Inflating now like a capital noun,
a rolling dash scraping ground
expelling air from its flimsy lung.
Part of a phalanx of exuberance
from a downward draft, abandoning
its mind, losing all identity.
Then a respiratory thought takes
shape, rare among such waste
posthumously conducting the wind,
because of what it has become -
an Aspiration - out of its box!
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