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The Impossible Machine
Happy in Spite, or Freedom from Happiness
I slept so well I forgot how well I slept
I spoke the words as though I had wept
and wept
I wrote the words, although the words
were sacrosanct
Breaths were breathed, although the
leaves had all the air—

Life was lived as though all life was
past despair
I threw my eye through the azure sphere

Airs belonged amongst the air!

The weather cleared and there was
more air
The fields combed through with wind
let fly a darling dew
The scabs of pruned tree-limbs
glistened like a fist
The flare of the turning sun and moon
settled in my throat—

A world trapped inside my heart.

The daylight broke as though there was
no day
I remember now how I followed as I rose
I walked that plane of stones
paved higher than the roofs

yet the sky was deep—
Blue with distance, shrieking with
dreams
Asking that I spit out my bitter spirit
The spirit animal

A lightning form, a curling worm.
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by Eucaleh Terrapin