exhaustion marks
the beginning of thinking,
not the end:
what of the sentence
that lingers and languors
picking up
whatever hangs around
until it means itself
and opposites too
and then the misstepping
dancer fakes it
just right
very few catch it
and those that do
admire her
for it
before the wish
before the thought
before the wild
and the tamed
there is the wave
the rhythm
the pulse
to ride
to be bare and lost
to stand before the blankness
to wonder into a void
to stand with no feet
to breathe with no lungs
to hear with no ears
to smell with no nose
to touch with no skin —
fear and possibility
scent-encing my way
across a prairie
hoping to find
the lit house
it could be
around the bend
straight forward
but I don't know
what is a bend
or what is straight
just now
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