swelling

i enjoy the sweet conflict of the closed eye times when my breath rasps in beats, two, two times for a distractioned focus, fractioned we’re ordinary people in threatened fracture. i have a twitch now, at the base of the little finger on my left hand it’s kinda welcomingly freaking me out —- like indigestion too many hours after i’ve eaten. it’s not dark, it’s not nothing, it’s a swelling of My Consciousness that if you don’t understand i can’t explain unless you’re unlessed. i’m floating in quasi-free. i can laugh at the uncanny certainty that only comes in these most familiar of adolescent memorial-times. did i tell you how i used to feel it under my hands on the steering wheel, the same as when i’d cry at night without a skerrick of sleep, except it became welcome in the later years. acknowledge.

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