Recreation

January 30th, 2019

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The spaces there; the pause between
what I can stomach, and the feast
leaves life a malleable thing now quickening
now sickening
now stagnant
now serene.

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I've no idea where I might look to find the contradiction,
else but in your mind, or the fields stretched out before your gaze
or in my crumbling heart, here succumbing
now becoming
now belligerent
now base.

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How could I hate the center of my life? And yet the sun is sometimes scorned
for shining forth too bright, for warming more than dainty life can suffer without singeing.
The inability to imbibe all is mine. I feel it healing
now kneeling
now knotted
now known.

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