A Pound of Flesh

Within the void I am drawn
one step, no voice and a bow
Pulling back I hear the chant
breathe that last breath of air,
“row, row, row…”
Down the stream of consciousness
of unavoidable contradiction
Experiencing the truth of conscience.
Morals constantly questioned.
Plato Artistotle West Du Bois.
Half they say to describe a whole
because the square was no sphere
Thinking in multiple dimensions
while they say, “you think
too deep.”
Curtains not drawn as the players still play
despite there being no stage left
Standing on the cliffs of strings and winds
nowhere to go (I don’t want to step back.)
Lines aren’t always connected and that’s the dot.
I love.

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