within or without the stench of struggle
no default redemption set in, pre-anything
in morning with you
wrestle the blessed pressure
of flesh and wind, linen upon skin
have gone out and got those leaves we need
and bulbs of fruit, perhaps the right piece of meat
cut it up to eat, posture in no clench, at ease
there is a way to arrive again from night
to not perform rising, as if it were a step in a process
with the yoke already running, blood being red though blue
resist the rusting hook upon bedsides
it wants to be put in
drag us across the stage
there is a way to be surrounded by light
yet unseen
to be found all at once and not ever at all
do you understand what i mean?
would have woke with you
closed eyes open again
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