Dreams themselvesare repetitions, I know.
But of what? Of the worldat large? Its baker faculties?Its unseen conjunctions? Ormaybe they repeat the mind itself.Pieces and components of it.The past, the future.The uninheritedcoincidence.
Paintings,or else photographs.Premonitions,or else the life unsent.Aching, legioning milesof pipeline in dirtfrom dirt through dirt so thatwe may only assumethat it will only ever stopat dirt.
This subsistence of the self,is it refractionof the self which is constant?Is it reflectionof the self which manifests?Well, one thing's for sure:this is nothing new.
Summer (or late Spring), 2014Further Context
Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.
Need help? email@example.com