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Crackling light at black bottom chimney smoke begins there ascends somewhere Crack, collapse recycled as smoke ... Spirit. |
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The fire escape balcony of prayer leads down to where a deer-hooved field lay before, upon my heart. |
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bad buttons ... like a tap of sap in a tree with broken limbs ... are pushed leaving everything depressed. |
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It seemed clear but not at all what I wanted to hear there in the stillness near midnight in my head and heart where one day did end and another one did start. It was the voice of certainty, a certain slap to my spirit ... rude, not refreshing. Eventually, sleep shut it down. Now it simmers, seemingly waiting for the next attempt to enter into solitude, serenity. |
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The big heart twisted in on itself as I followed its chambers with children leading the way. It thumped, too. Yet the thumping of my own blood-beater bettered it, for the claustrophobia caught me short. A big heart ... but not big enough. |