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Chopsticks

somewhere deep in the recesses of the mind I am wandering between dream, reality,


thought, and fruition. the mind responds in ways to the deepest wanderings of dream


and reality replies with the answers of minds deepest meditation upon right and wrong


upon, which is the pathway, which unto the left or right, the hallway on the left is but

the spiral drawn, and the opening to the hallway on the right aligns to view, what once

was black now golden, in opalescent remembrances of steps taken every so lightly on


through, never to return againe, the mirror on the walls hangs itself, each silvered glow

reflection crawls unto the nail, what was the past history of north, was south, though

I was facing east, though I was standing east facing a woman whom does exist, though


in the north was standing a tree whom does move to the abolitionist tune, to the center


of the room, where the blood does fall from the tree, as a leaf does fall, as the sand grain


suspended in mid air above both halves of the hourglass is caught before ever a word

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