Sunday, April 5, 2015

88 ~

Maybe a stretch, horizon, or illusion
My head no longer calculates without aid, the years implied, 27 btw, at this gestational arc of an idea

When she said it, I too wanted to own it. Before 
that moment 
I was busily hapless or hopelessly busy, yet inert.

This suddenly seemed infinitely better.
Ah, to what end the will.

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