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The concept, then poetry.

I start off with a vision.

The story struggles neatly.

I’m confronted by reason.           Some lines are crossed before me.

Like seasons and seasoning the words depend on the taste of the evening.

Calling, feigning, dreamy, concrete, reality and linearly, they fall apart and turn into streams…. Coming toward me.

O! Different ideas say more to me. Thoughts are just for everything.

They flow right out of me; they go right through the catalyst meant to protect my intellect. Out they flow like an alcoholic with no filter.

Boom, boom, boom-boom goes my heartbeat.

 

Submit.

I’m found. For a moment I had lost me. JLA ©

 perfectionisodd.wordpress.com

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