Just a collection of reactions,
Just a rapture felt far off.
Awake sometimes upon the ether.
Humming to a rhythm unfelt.
What’s to do with this bag of wishes,
This chitinous tentacle of need?
Words spill in a variegated tangle,
Stain the mouth they cannot feed.
There is no ‘I’ here—
Look under the chaos,
There is no one here to answer:
Your outstretched hand,
Your everything smile.
There are shadows though,
With them will you dance?
Would you clasp close, these discarded images;
That could perhaps pass for a self?
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