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Zebra This Fading
Distinction sometimes falls
to disadvantage. Focus seems foreign,
strained, a pain seeding at the edges
of conscious thought. It becomes too
much, drains itself. Soft,
the bold emblazoning stripes blur,
amalgamate, consume
each other
and the eye
of the beholder
they anchor. Nothing
divides in this bastardized distraction.
Colors streak, lines falter, opposite
bolds boil into an easy shade
of seeping gray.