Two swallows, pencil points on the ends of mathematical
compasses,
wheeling in a smoky blue sky, took me with them; a sort of freedom.
Lying, watching the sky think, composed of nothing but separating atoms,
I, you might say, was reassembled in the magnificence of that one moment.
Exhilaration, a reassembling of the way I thought, sent me cascading outward,
Lying, watching the sky think, composed of nothing but separating atoms,
I, you might say, was reassembled in the magnificence of that one moment.
Exhilaration, a reassembling of the way I thought, sent me cascading outward,
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