stumbling through a wake up coffee yet set in fuzz of morning recovery from whatever did run over my poor body flattened to the core remainder gathers quickly recollect, repeat: feels a bore i don’t know why it’s quiet inside this great green vale the future promises wild long and twisted messy tale the fog of waking early the fog of waking late time seems a gross uncertainty it’s hard to pin a name as if the tunnel collapse yet no rock fall above end to entrance rushing between two hands been shoved pressed to almost nothing a mile down a foot one step as many thousands old cycle ends in soot and fertilizes the ground basic space recharged the only way of knowing by sinking this filthy barge a vehicle of necessity not one of grace or speed a shamble of continuity confused and led by need perceived by wanton grasping convinced desire to drive to be, become a lasting me for this I will strive to bolster what feels present this array of sense in flesh consolidate volition oddly soft and less that what I want is permanent cozy stable home driven burrowed resister a hardened, dug-in gnome digging, grinding, blocking building this weakest fort to hide from what’s around dark fears my needs do court when it serves the grasping, this fragile flesh in hand instead of watching stars with certainty there will land a cosmic breadth together unleashes this wild steed to run the fields of loving growing evermore kind in deed
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