Sunday, May 10, 2015

to whatever appears

sore from typing and mousing, all night

tunnel vision, after a session 

building, planning, war

enfolded in

to whatever appears 

in reverie

uniformed bodies

synced to motivations 

from the bedrock

gathered, precious little objects of anxiety

sorted out and disheveled continuously

sometimes an ache

throws me to a frantic pace

and I actually sweat

sometimes nothing

only a silence that I can savour

for a few moments in the morning

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