I skitter between this jellyfish trickster and an awareness of her soft, slow sea
I am three:
beatific I
some metric of disorganized thirds, disconnected
and dissimilar and the same
steady as a three-legged stool
staring listless down a three-pronged path
no choosing, all wrong
I can not at once think and be nor is this body present
when its seconds come for her thirds
looking inward I disappear from myself
thoughts perceptible on the periphery glow opaque
this engine only churns when the door is closed

One thought on “3

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