to put a finger on what
really drives you towards something
that thing that changes
your face
and takes you closer to
the life in your eyes
what is that perversion
that takes your sleep away
when a smile emerges on
your face
not in wont of being
shared with anyone
opening an imaginary
realm which you can inhabit
with your bare feet
rooted in the ground
that file, the store room
of inscription, the teleporter,
the place where stories
were written
never to be read
and you stumble there
to put a finger on it
and just stay
evading linearity of time
refusing to leave it
alone
striving for that
transitory delusion
of a momentary
euphoria...
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