Dividing, dividing, dividing...
in other worlds and words;
until sheaves become indivisible...
I
must
scratch
that itch behind my oculus
...feel the arc of the hook
giving me relief
from the pain of average thought.
Yet
do I speech You
as you are frequenting the River?
Cross this road
against its trafficking of persons
So we let the fires burn
in her hearth
as it pumps smoke up higher and higher.
[21:49|02.8.011]©c.thomas.carter
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