As Above, So Below

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Signal Drift

My thoughts have been tinged by this lamentation as of late. Pensive moments with no audible refrain, meta-layers of gears churning raw in the depths below. Apprehensive moments wound taught by peripheral shadows, leering around the edges yet never gaining form. I’m racing after a heart that is veering, soaring, languishing — all within scattered seconds. And all with the strange notion of light and laughter interspersed throughout. From where does this rise? There is no place in my life that reason points. The landscape is at once familiar and foreign. There is something of myself here, but much more I sense that is not. I can’t help but wonder if this is some form of signal drift, grazing in from the cold, catching on the burs of consciousness.

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