in the lofty heights of apparent inspiration,
instinct is lost
love is ostensibly knowledge
ignore: the failed attempts to focus on what is real
varied roads of methodology leading to something equally unbeautiful
don’t take away what is not real
digging in and scraping and pretending when it was viable
don’t exert yourself
don’t listen
be satisfied with the blindness and
be calm with the confusion
a combination of what you know and what you feel
so easily, manageably altered into what you reason
how can there be reconciliation,
looking into different realities
no universality exists
in this gap between distance,
in this congregation of potentially meaningful words
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