★—you may find yourself—★
in a blue room in the house of your father, a blackbird on the windowsill outside |
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yearning for a time before thinking was constrained by thirty homogeneous slides each organized into one main idea and five bullet points
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in the digital age
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waiting for the rain
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lying in bed having woken from a dream
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in a yoga class, looking at the blue stripe on your green mat, and working around the strain in your lower back
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learning to make jesses for a tiercel, identical to ones made by men 4,000 years ago |
anticipating those moments of bliss when you cannot say whether you hear a flute or a voice
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glassy-eyed with ennui at the start of the day
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seeing things very differently than this fellow |
lost in such such an eye, that is in such a similar eye |
disillusioned
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