A track, a river;
Both parallel to my nerves,
Both conjugate
And consummate,
In a swirling mount
Asking my long lost answers.
Then arises my mound,
To a new infinity
Asking me to touch another firmament.
Na, I said.
But one more heap,
Like my enduring hump,
Asking me to curtail another sky.
The track and the river,
With new lorries
And with new streams
Circle my web
And I stand
Waiting for my mound,
No, my hump to go straight!
10 SEC READ The gift of insults
2 years ago
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