‘I had more or less whole wholes from rare moment to moment like those pockets in time with [ ] or should I say whole holes those moments of fictive truth or truthful fiction dare I say presence I dare not but I held on tight I bounced between hope and hopelessness from moment to moment from whole to hole pain to relief held on tighter wanted harder until at last I let go so slow so reluctant I was until I let myself drift into your undertow but it is false to say let myself there was some force yet no violence it is true then let us say a strange drift pulled me into your slipstreams where it is always too late where you murmur now distant now near like calls across windy waters where you make your strange demand where your currents run in and out of wholes and holes as they loosen the grip on hope and hopelessness alike until I am my own enemy the enemy of I until I abandons nostalgia to your currents until I drifts from I to I drifts into your endless presence perhaps but it is not like that other presence it is not like that at all why not why not tell me.’


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