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a buried sigh, breaking ground

it went away   the big picture
what he said  without flinching    or maybe
he did stand back   viewing my thralldom
waiting for my clock to crash      
its taste for impact   and anxious ground    
not knowing the sun is vital    
always over me     a fiery professor    
telling me    he is only fresh panic      
hell-bent on ceasing
pointing to my hair    in its prison    
such ends   split from boundaries  
that phantoms would find me   easily
a map of every moment    how i could be free
and that wish for nostalgia    
how i live with his closure   his nothing more

13 Aug 15

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