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            you got what you wanted
                      dark room
                      slight light
                      rain outside
                      books and
                      wrapped in a
            and you still haven’t found it
            running away from despair
                      in a hundred hopeful ways
                      and you can’t even sit still
                      for ten minutes rather

            I should sit and despair
                      a hundred times a minute
                      but slowly

            all the sweetness of first-written
                      of first scent of colour
                      of first rain in the cornfield
            let them all go
                      they are not the self
                      they are the first glimpse
            of a far far bigger
                      and more
                      than you are





beauty wormhole: “write, let’s break / outta here!”
books wormhole: there
identity & talking to myself wormhole: walking
rain wormhole: morning
sitting wormhole: no more