Sunday, May 1, 2016


So now I am flying on the stairs
this oxymoronic moment of mine
lingers memories which dart between
words that do not yet exist for my use.

I am here before I am there and, 
sequentially, I end up in neither place.
I am split like hair. I am caught falling
between two poles, but still fall.
Flying, and falling. What is the
difference, after all, between them?

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