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I write. And then I eat. And then maybe I'm happy.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

The Correlation

I am supported by invisible things,
structures, and sometimes we're all accountable
for the gun going off,
or the hand slipping because of the sweat,
watching the person slowly accelerating
away from you, centuries down where nature meets
a fragile body and decisively cracks
the entire self, sometimes
the scream in our throats isn't for
what we're losing or what we've lost,
or the semi-pure terror of the event
in our faces,
sometimes the panic, the tremble, the scream
is for ourselves, as we see the inverted reflection
of a 'thing' unperverted.

I'd rather be alone than be related
to some eradiated source material
surgically picking at the contents
of my injured self.

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