Tramping this white space, over
and back, over and back,
craving
encroachments:
mildews, moulds,
suggestions,
shapes,
anything that is not
nothing.
It
becomes clear
that space spawns
its own confinement:
a
compulsion to
fill it.
Soon enough the junk
comes flying;
and it
becomes,
in fact, a very dangerous place to be.
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