26 January
Memories already begin to fade.
Skipping naked in the streets
in my dreams
end of time cuts close
slicing up the streets
into slivers like silver
piecing together
the hands of fate
like great puzzles
leaping into puddles
and over rivers
drooling over myself
in some great mystery
of revelation
yellowing stands of truth
grow ancient in the shadows
becoming more than free
in the inadequacy of language
moving slowly between
the doubts and certainties
finding a path
to lead me in
inside my dreams
I am always skipping
naked in the streets
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