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It Also Is A Setting

tell it to me againe, what does it mean, tell it to me my friend, where does it go

the time it takes to think thoughts had by others oft so to believe, wherefore thought

is creating time and space is ever unfolding within far from without, evermore the

distance around the circle drawn in chalk, dripped in blood, dropped the roses petals

plucked, like a feather does, just a hug, just another sand drops, call it what you want

call me by the number written in the dusk, hardly the stars could corrupt, pleasurable to

the senses but, the taste it lingers like the mind gets fingered for oft being a better man

better hands breed better plans for to be conclusive in the inspection of a dram, could

almost tell you what it is, could almost hold a light to the light shining through a prism

I have seen those spirals spiraling off into the realm where nothingness is oft confused

I have held the hand up to the light, I have seen the energetic mess love makes of life

I held the hand up to the light shining standing there on the balcony, head tilted at the

Meandering spirals leaving off the skin in colourfull twists and twirls, this is what we are

She laughed, then she left, before the context was grasped and after the epiphany trashed

And it is only a metaphor for coming undone, only just a string, tied up, invisible cuts

Death in more than a thousand words, versed languages, and they hardly do mean the same

Things for the brain, memories to the mindless, ever thinking thoughts that were in flames

Writing words inverse, speaking symbols, it is the first of another and the last of one more

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