and cohesion waft along fragmented
lines of disillusionment.
in absence, I wander sideways. Fulfilling
archaic circles (of concentration
or concentrated pantomime). I glitter
over these eccentric trials, flaming
faltering bridges labeled: escape.
I dismiss such self-serving propaganda,
choosing instead alleyways layered in limericks.
I am my own hammer [nail and
cross]. Over is a concept I covet. Half-heartedly,
I convince myself I know where I am
leading. But the truth is these bread-crumb trails
(and possibly not mine). My imagination
wanders in the opposite direction [of up].
Someone please open
a window, I long to remember
the intonations of the wor[l]d . . .
. . . Breathe.
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