May. 6th, 2004

proximoception: (Default)
When clouds are low the world's one room
And all the families live together
With eyeprinted smiles to tell whom from whom
And drifty warm spiderless cobwebs for weather.

When skies are high there's a funnel that forms
From the outermost outside to each head about
And a cold wave of strange drowns whatever still warms
And what we are is hammered out.

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proximoception

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