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A bunch of thoughts


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There is a cold on my feet

I cannot shake

.. completely persistent...

For a time I suspect the blood is draining out of me


Other times

I tell myself

this cold is devastation

seeping up towards my heart


Either way

It's an odd irony

Cold feet


For the ground on which I stand

is iced-

over with the austere beauty complete isolation will bring you



* * * *


I am experiencing time



in slow motion


Sparks, clips, blips, scattered in every direction

Functional chaos streaking by

But slowly

not fevered


not colorful

just as if all the light in the room exploded


glass and light

words and paper

fiber and flesh



spreading, spinning, sliding

all over


sound is another monster


mostly disjointed





Maybe I should put socks on.

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