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                                                                                 I am born
                                                              colours and mists

                                              I become good at recognising them I
                become aware of the I
                                              recognising them
                                and when the dull surprises happen I
                                foreshortened and arthritic
                                              with each
                                of my broken heart until
                I stop breathing

                                                              unless I am
                                              born again
                                breathing the mist’s swirl and
                singing the colour’s shine





breathing wormhole: breathe it all / in
identity wormhole: scattered
life wormhole: Dr Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
mist wormhole: oh-pen too
samsara wormhole: a known from without the unknown