om

my face,
mangled and
serene.
my lips, rigid
and fluid.
my eyes,
groping and
revealing. my
world has an
insignificant
grace i chase,
from here to
there. on my
mala of moons
and stars i
recite 108
lightning mantras.
my fingers,
tremble as
leaves of a
bodhi tree
in an autumn
current. gravity
pulls my desire in
and out, and back
and forth. my
body, a carcass
of deliberation
and character.
from now till
then i will
reckon each
breath.

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