Sometimes on thin stilts, skinlight touching
All points of predetermined whisky-glow
All joints unfolding starship ramp
The nervous decoil of a shy proboscis
Half-sheltered in a petal cup
Sometimes avalanche
Comet screaming in a frozen instance of forever
For forever
And then the strangled shriek
Afterthought run-on’s period of explosion touching down
Here I roll
Shoulder shells at battle
Hopsack belly at rumble
Saddle hips at heft
On to whimsied goals and dead end paths
Distracting the machine for any bee or leaf or cryptid
Cloud, or mysterious moon,
Thin idiot’s adventure, rubbed and bumpered
To harbor or to rocks
Tinker toy or hurricane
Will you keep me to the path?

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Death, The Life Story

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"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living."- Jonathan Safran Foer. || student, loves travelling and perhaps baking a cake.||

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