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What a mess

Clockwork so diligent

My mind’s work precise

Life churning while I’m turning

Not of Grace

My heart’s bleeding

Fifth season not a gift

just a holey ploughing pour of pain

resuscitation of a morbid becoming

I thought I’d Gray

but I’m just Balding

It seems everything is halting

Breathing is heavy

the air so irky like inhaling

Charred mineral powder.

How can I yearn so much?

With plain holey hands

Wild burning tears firing through

These Holey hands

How could I want them

When I reach with blinded sight

There’s not much room

The hollowed vac of my stomach

Resounds to the gong of my failures

The gnashing of my mares fighting

For first break

Each one trying to claim a piece of me

I cannot give not gain.

How could I want?

A new view

A fresh January

A new life

A free life

A light me

When I have have never

Tasted the salt

Of such a peace

Imagined and never tangible

Like slipping sand

Never intending to hold.

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