talking my hands
in circles
too wrung out
to burn a straight line
in a cellar
full of old plumbing
the flow goes nowhere
flooding out
to anyone
who'll listen
in this room
with no angles
i burn my head
for the memory
of sensation
a dream
creeps fearfully
in
and plants
a seed
washed out
at my feet
a child
a wonderful thing
she brings
the fragile
enormity
of the
sound
of
waves
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