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Poetry

Death in life

Is death really anything

Besides a change in location

And a progression of purpose?

In that case, maybe the both of us

Are always dying, so long as we live.

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Open plans

Sanity, that necessity that feels like a lie,

Its neat suit and tie all pressed and crisp

Like some plaster wall in a new kitchen.

It’s no good…! I like open plans,

And this solidity stifles and muffles me.

Obliterate the barrier, and take life back

From cold schedule and confused focus.

But now that the concrete disintegrates,

The abstract has no form to inhabit and dies with it.

Spirit sinks restlessly and without solace

And even if the truth stands before me, it can no longer be grasped.