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Sonnet Descending the Staircase

Where the title should be
It’s just sadness
Sometimes I think I am like Pluto
Lost between categories
But too late to change
I am already
A planet of the imagination
Everything is hollow
Everything is hollow until it is filled
Everything is hollow and cannot be filled
Everything is hollow because it is already filled
Filled with the echo of God
Who always forgets to bring down
The olives for the martinis

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