My eyes are like machine code, running lines up from the lanes and screens or avenues of trees my limbs walk down, open mouths or sideways squints which open up my mouth or make me squint. It’s one thing to think about it, another thing to live it through, when resemblances cannot be told apart from repetition. Bubbles wobble and rise from a morning dive in the pool where after several laps I tire and lose count. If comparisons were true instead of pathways, fishing lines, I’d happily shut down but it’s not the truth that wakes me up at 3 am, just its piercing semblance.
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