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BEYOND

beyond my encircled routine, I watch
the hours tear off strips of unused time,

and the walls are blank, unwashed,
waiting for the big event, forced out
from my distrustful imagination’s
heightened awareness,

flowing as
molten lava from stress-fractures in
my swollen, runaway brain, and I
cannot see the end of it,

as the roped veins
twist and flex their unnatural muscle before
I’ve had a chance to catch my rasping breath.

beyond my swollen, runaway brain there is
no rhyme nor reason, but even less within,
so the barrier to my sense is crushed
beneath the scrambled feet of others’ lives,

caught between birth and death, the dual
certainties that prowl around my encircled
routine, sickly child

of unused time, subject
to my distrustful imagination, which soon
will vanish when faced with light
inaccessible and comfortingly relevant
beyond my encircled routine, and water –

the elixir of life abundant –
spills over to cleanse the desolate places
where I have dwelt too long in fear and sorrow,
caught between birth and death, those dual
certainties, and yet forgetting another sure
foundation –

the eternal flame, burning
chaff from my swollen, runaway brain and
wasteful heart – and wafting it to dust, now
sows love beneath the fertile soil.

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