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Cycles

Falling from the sky
With others close behind
Trembling knees and hands
Following the road
Knowing where it goes
Pieces fall aside
Piling in the swale
Breaking down in time
Flesh in stagnant pools
Still the trail leads on
Helpless not to move
Gathering the noise
Circulating air
Calculating pain
Finally at the end
Reaching through the dust
Lifting into sky
The others close behind.

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There's another part, always,
that doesn't want to go,
a shape more practiced
than my humble sincerities,
my tilted resolutions.

I forget to relax my knees,
That I should soften my jaw,
take lessons from the glass,
from the sidelong blurs,
and oblong silhouettes;

take in the everyday words
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I should brush against these threads,
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