You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.
The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.
The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...
-Walt Whitman
28.8.17
where the world went once
WILL WE EVER KNOW where the world went when you once held my gaze from across a sea of madding crowd? Was it this place, an unknowable room for things lost? The space between paper and inkblots, between wingbeats: a lesser infinity whose hiddenness rivals the absence, silence of words almost said but ultimately not. Because it's not necessary; not for us anyway, not anymore.
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