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20131104-015731.jpgI fell asleep in a thought asylum;
My dreams have been spinning
for years.
I woke up enchained to the walls
Of something–
Stupefied
By some nonspecific gravity–
And I cannot conclude
Whether or not it does even exist,
Or if I’m just motion sick–

In lieu of the exponential
interruption I’ll never catch,
I catch my breath in glimpses elsewhere.
As I fake distraction from eyes that collide,
The air from my lungs;
I am suffocating;
I am standing still.

And so the motions feel so thrilling
because
I have become so structured,
each fiber calculated.
The hands of time
Are now coexisting with mine;
That if I could utter
My promises in
Numerical fragments,
Then my words, too,
Would tick & tock.

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