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Jun 2015
'So easy'
some would say,
the one who never had his day spin in a silent night or turned
his back to find he looks upon himself.
So easy,
like the spasms of the first ****** the beginning of the fall
and in the falling getting smaller, smaller but finding as the crow flies South in fact you're getting taller and the circle that you're in is the thing that's getting smaller, so you flex your limbs and climb and it's easy climbing over, getting over walls that try to keep you in, they never get to teach you that in colleges or seats of learning,
it's like they'd rather leave you yearning, wanting more and burning with the want of it.

But you never pluck your eyes out to see what lies behind because those learned fellows tell us that to do that makes us blind and if that's so and we take heed we'll never know, I'd rather bleed to death than waste my breath and then again I know that breath is just a roundabout of which a death is just one turn-off,
several light years, where the teardrop drops and all time stops to catch another breath and death is just a taste on the palate of some ancestral waiter,
I wait another turn foregoing all the pain and pleasure of that once in a lifetime final seizure,
I am my own and I am Ceasar in my home, a caliph to sit upon the throne and who can tell me no?
even so
I fall and fall and small or tall without a doubt it evens out
in the end.
John Edward Smallshaw
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw  67/Here and now
(67/Here and now)   
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