It’s an existential thing, you wouldn’t understand.

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As sleep we in the furnace, moving
teeth in time, splendid shine
the ether lingering.
Two bit fingers fingering a pulse.
Sometimes loss and always without
speaking. My joints
and all their creaking, how
messy is a life! How
spooky full of chewing gum!
We move dumbly
through a wicked mire
and never stop long enough to care.

-r. miller

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