Trying For Motion
Those barest moments of the lowest depths fondle me and I succumb turn back into the hollow lights that lit my way when light failed when night came down hard when feet stopped moving The plod, the low-hanging head A halo of streetlights spun out overhead beneath the branches like arms that cannot hug like things I've felt but cannot see Somewhere it ends But the avenue is long and I long to answer these sweet rhythms with the slow-motion folds of a body in motion without me Without me
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