have fallen from my form.
I am naked in the crushing weight
of unnamed forces.
Paths poured in iron
flake away like burnt grass.
How can I move these wooden limbs
now that the strings have snapped?
Who can show me the shape of things
behind the fallen facade?
Is there anyone among the senseless
who can dream themselves awake?
You move toward emptiness
in the circuits of these dying words.
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