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Birth write

I still write my verses free hand.

Rhythmically, passionately,

love making the pen dance

my soul into existence.

Right here, before my eyes,

my naked self,

the ineffable me.


Reproduced by ink and paper

hand and body

and the thoughts.

A ghost,

from within me…




believing in ghosts

is a delusion,

as some on the left would say.

What’s more,

they also say

that I can be delusional

for a lifetime…

and then I’ll die,

into non existence.


Nothing colder.


And those to my right say

that my ghost is real,

and it is immortal.

and if I don’t toe their line

it will burn forever.


Nothing hotter.


Then watch as I,

from betwixt

the opposing forces,

find a breach.

A New Way.


The middle parts,

and I enter a new world

with groanings and pain.






















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