Little by little I start again,
to uncover a personal world,
white soft snow, collecting on a rolling ball
its journey clear but uncontrolled
is lighter than the machinery of stillness.
A haphazardous fortune
or mapped out misfortune
I rest my vacuumed mind
But follow its much visited path
that makes circular journeys
around instinct and memory
weaving in and out of synapses
touring each sense cautiously
and looking for the right one for now.
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