***
i am seeing things strewn out before me
moments by
moments by
stroboscopic moment,
the romance of the momentous is
frequent and persistent and
harrowing,
clippings of a flickering film reality,
isn't it?
i await each night a renewed and rosy delight when, asleep in a nest of coverlets, i am just a passive sweet infants: all warm thumbs and small words and recurring denouemont.
***
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