what if the mind is all legs
and I have tight hamstrings of thought?
what if strange has no sense of startup
and eventually, no outcome?
what if futility was functionally utilizable,
and had it own state of constant reliability?
what if insatiability was simply process-oriented?
what if extreme loss is a mishap of context identity,
and if victimhood was without narrative,
therefore now set free?
what if want was recognition's first cause
that was ever realized,
as if bottom of the barrel
is the first awareness sense of barrel-ness?
what if reality is a playground,
where creative minds are permitted,
and if thoughts come,
that pensively wait for recognition to concur?
what if a sense of dignity
feels like a mirror pose
waiting for feedback?
what if I feel somehow cursed,
living for appearance's sake
to save me?
and what if another's touch
can be the soft insistence
of a future evocative? . . .
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