“There’s an incessant greed to take, pushing up on me, and cornering me into dangerous edges of my capacities, aiming doubts along the black and white outlines, keeping me from inching away into different places, each fading day, softening, loosening away from time, and circling around the bottom of my head, lifting my mind in watery uprising. And me being descriptive of it, fronting my personal revelation, the intimate revolution that is cycling around my lips as I breathe into decisive space, gazing at the ghost lost in my reflection, slowly emerging in urgent reaches of my fingers, seems spastic and loud, an escape. So much definition crawls around when we dream, and our mind loses threads that connect to the puppet that is our body, accomplishing compromises, and promises. But in the end, when the sun sets, and the sky dims, something whirls and twirls and spins, I can…
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