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hard facade soft edges blurred depressions precipitous slopes fragile points of origin no shape a heavy space dappling of light eyes a fusion into the mind a focus approaches my forehead meets my finger tips thumbs caress my ears nose peeks out for air tension builds across my neck the day is bestirring a haunting commences the stirring street clamours my feet embrace the floor the bathroom draws me near the bus door shushes close my hand finds a bar to hold an unanswered welcoming smile in the crowd the window fog of mortal breath ting, my inescapable stop my watch prompts me to toil the briefcase opens amongst discarded papers lunch makes it to the drawer password…. needs changing emails overflow the inbox an empty outbox unpaid demands crossed out scribbles a match of a pencil smell of an unlaundered shirt the clamour of the phone a deadline agreed the digital clock hoots in red at my predicament the editor hot, the ink is cold lame excuses unworthy of air time to recant elbows take my weight as I bow pray-full fingers encamp on my face eyelids close here a place for shapes of my imagination
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Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
Shapes of our imagination: Rodins Non Thinker
hard facade soft edges blurred depressions precipitous slopes fragile points of origin no shape a heavy space dappling of light eyes a fusion into the mind a focus approaches my forehead meets my finger tips thumbs caress my ears nose peeks out for air tension builds across my neck the day is bestirring a haunting commences the stirring street clamours my feet embrace the floor the bathroom draws me near the bus door shushes close my hand finds a bar to hold an unanswered welcoming smile in the crowd the window fog of mortal breath ting, my inescapable stop my watch prompts me to toil the briefcase opens amongst discarded papers lunch makes it to the drawer password…. needs changing emails overflow the inbox an empty outbox unpaid demands crossed out scribbles a match of a pencil smell of an unlaundered shirt the clamour of the phone a deadline agreed the digital clock hoots in red at my predicament the editor hot, the ink is cold lame excuses unworthy of air time to recant elbows take my weight as I bow pray-full fingers encamp on my face eyelids close here a place for shapes of my imagination
Pressures of work and being productive are not always easy. Some recompense can be found behind the position of Rodins Thinker, in reality it is often with two hands to cover the face to escape rather than be a thinker
kevin-wright-2
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Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
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