Friday, April 25, 2014

Sense

Having curtailed more than
you have contributed, I feed
and clothe the spirit
that I know is there,


somewhere in the vicinity
of breath I feel released
close to the infestation
of foreign and near


objects, substances, routines,
shuttled from your assumed
world weariness to my
certain practiced innocence,


as though swathed
in novelty accompanying
birth, beyond, yet sinking
into terra firma and its plates.

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