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Thursday, September 16, 2010

Eleven Minutes

There is a deeper silence inside the ears
Than anyone could achieve on purpose.
Find that place and you can sleep forever.
Find that purpose and you can wake up.

In this state we make the observation that
Paper turns black at the footfalls of fire,
But air traces the flames' edge with a blue
More deep and lovely than Autumn's best sky.

Walking on sticks is fine for some
But those with less balance and stress
Find joy in the slime, mud and grass
And can watch water fly if they laugh.

In the end, it's the light falling on all this
That makes sense and makes sense pointless.
Because laughter counts for something
And the clink of coins sounds more like illness.

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