INTENTIONS
Not to delve too deeply, but I am caught at this
moment within the cave of a dream of my making :
tendrils and vines of wish and intent, twisting and
gripping my every exposure. Light itself furrows my
arguable brow. I wince at distant things, ignoring
what is close be me. The sound of the yellow canary,
at home in its cage, breeds such familiar intention.
I know precisely what is meant. I understand each note.
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