knowledge of the itinerary
is a yarn strand
stretching, reaching
from between my toes
through to the unseen
(frustrating fog)
this is a prayer of immaturity:
remove these necessary planks of wood
they block and fragment my desire
I dare to grasp prematurely
threat of cutting
a shift punch to an early ending
if pressing fast forward were optional
to watch the ribbon reel and spin
instead bow to desire
acknowledge its presence
and then lets run
down the alleyways
pollution caressing our faces
type into technology
and hope that once the first plank is leapt
there will be an exposure of something fitting
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