How a little of anything can matter
takes more of it than we can handle
and in between nothing we sigh
a sign the rough landing done.
One screw loose is a blessing,
still the mission is to hide
what people can't grasp,
the reverse expectation.
Same effort, just less of it
sighs when twist is out,
yet all our expectations
fit on the tight turn's end.
For freedom I grew less
and hiding expectation
looking goofy and some,
made my sighs an address.
One piece of candy
for the eye who spies,
who sees mystery unraveling
as I address the inconceivable sky.
Beggars here are mistaken.
They want the zoo of forgotten,
the void of unconscious,
the illusion of order inside.
Here inside is a twistless
flame kept alive, on purpose,
the friction, a pain of heat
what less known grows
in this land of sigh.
12/08 RJDuberg
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