We’re All Crazy (most of us)


Intrigued by thought
Unsure of our bodies
We make love
By the length of an idea
The hollow of a pillow
Where his scent still sleeps
Under white terry cloth
Where her naked shoulder emanates
These are the miles reified
The abstract made concrete
The inevitable synthesis of change
Occurring at the edge of a touch
In the deepest imagining
Unencumbered and surfacing
What pleasant inhalations and exhalations
Untied tongues do make.


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