There was time to cross my sleep,
the numbness, the ripple, the winds,
the dance,
the moist in the deep.
I have known to shrink before I had you
And so I had played a dirge
Calm and full to the dizzy halogen lights
To break out a chunk of that pumping machine floating by old, salty fluids.
It was a question of moving on.
A question of returning back.
A peril of circling around.
Years like courier boxes I had put together. In the skin without the meaning.
So I dreamt along.
But now, Odysseus to Hamlet, they had risked their return.
So must I today.
Cruising between the hearth and the exile.
It's another homecoming ,with a mask.
A story of a mask under the sun.
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