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2012-07-25T11:31:54-07:00July 25th, 2012|Musings on life|

The strange appeal of a crisis

My insides are made of fizz
I sleep only out of duty
my cells are squealing
like happy pigs

I am running a hundred horses
in the pitch dark

this is what they call a crisis

but how strange
this ecstasy
so bright
inside the turmoil.

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