where my consciousness was born
and when I woke it was gone.
I walked the hideous roads of men
to find another forest
and when I found it walked around
but it was no dream.
I have become a painful bridge
between worlds that are pulling apart.
I will watch the ferns blow
on a beaver's dam
I will watch the gorgeous gleam
of the skyscrapers swaying in the distance.
I will walk back
to the home that is not a home
and see the beauty
of the man-made streets this time
knowing that none are absolved.
Life is a flaw that leads through error
to death, and I will believe
that death is a kind of music.
I will watch the ruddy tendrils climb up
from my hands and the hands
of my creator, knowing that it is a joke,
and I will not laugh.
Until I am unseen in the music,
until I am free from the frame
that was confined in time.
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