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then write and write and write even when i feel there is nothing to say. merely a case of tense submersion waiting for the clouds to hang heavy so they can rise and break the surface with ripples of compressed beauty. what? for now i suspend buoyed by the strength of 10,000 unsaid and waiting weighed down by 10,000 already living and breathing, tangled like strands of hair tossed by a night of sleep waiting for quivers of sunlight to slice through bonds and gnarled knots of meaning i cannot run my fingers through just waiting. and what if i spend my 10,000 hours waiting and still remain under - a case of subterfuge? submerged. cheated of a promise. there is no alternative. in cultivating a strange addiction to this form of weightlessness 10,000 is not enough enough is enough. Labels: my poetry |