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Friday, May 3, 2013

Passivity

Turn the page
of clumsily blotted letters
which words were frail
and sentences strung
loosely from the core.
Waywardly,
his art languishes
to the eyes
and lips
and claws
that nicked
his deepest weakness.

They left all places dented.
They left no place to learn.

Stiffly,
he gripped the shabbiness
of live hanging cables.
His faith is anchored
to the signals that gush forth
in many, many forms:
to the eyes
and ears
and minds
that are able to untangle
these misconstrued strings.

Lifeless
as these signals will always be,
akin to nothing
but just smeared ink.

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