there is a tiny eye to the hurricane, where I reside,
picturing these images in my mind
the feather on the pool, the touch of a warm breeze on tender skin
somehow makes me forget the predicament I'm in
I feel as tho my heart is torn in twain
at odds with this tiny thing again
or perhaps its some sort of masochistic venture
forcing myself to endure as if indentured
relying on precedent to somehow teach new tricks
the folly of my thinking has placed me in quite a fix
circumstances weigh heavily upon my mind
wondering if this fruit ever has anything but rind.
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