metapoetry

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Legato drawstrings tempt the blinds down, As heavy eyes burden my sight Soft light etches on the wall Perplexing, vague visages
Have you ever breathed life In to a few letters, So artfully They jumped off The paper?
I care to speak on my own behalf When my author is away from me. Do you take me for him? does the maker shape the body? Am I not my own entity? I am the fencer, the dancer, The gesture and jest;
Nothing's left unscathed by my fingerprints; Fabricating the familiar phrases, you can't Escape my impressions or eloquence, Silvering keys unlocking the doors Of the gap between us,
Can I make you feel urgency? The pulse I'm imparting; quick to fade, resurfacing again with fidelity lost among the process, I hope it catches you.
Oh! Outstretched hands implore; I insist on taking them. Calloused they may be But all the while worth more Than their salts: Eyeing ahead to the outcomes Of butterfly occurrences,
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