for so long now I have feared the cancer of silence,
the fall into the chasm of one’s own mind
and the absence of all distractions –
where there is no escaping the inward gaze
that finds oneself gazing out;
here is mindfulness of mindfulness;
here is the hand
that groping in darkness,
clenches and finds itself.
the fall into the chasm of one’s own mind
and the absence of all distractions –
where there is no escaping the inward gaze
that finds oneself gazing out;
here is mindfulness of mindfulness;
here is the hand
that groping in darkness,
clenches and finds itself.
this has for some time been my most secret
and intimate fear –
for the hand that is there
is mauled and fingerless,
and the face that is there
is waxen with screaming
at the sound that it itself is making.
and intimate fear –
for the hand that is there
is mauled and fingerless,
and the face that is there
is waxen with screaming
at the sound that it itself is making.
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