The Spin

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Perched on the edge of something and anticipation holds court

Breath caught as the crickets tell tall tales and the sun washes lazily over the fields

I am obsessed with how nature feels and there is a gully of words I have wedged myself into

Do you notice when you are stuck in quicksand and everything you write recycles as nothing newer than the last incarnation and try as you might to pull yourself free, the deeper into the cycle you go?

Maybe immersing my body in a bed of thick grasses or finding water to wash myself clear of the residue of this thing that doesn’t quite want to shift will help

Or maybe when we find ourselves here, we must let the words spin over and over again until they tire themselves out and some new ones are born

I am at a loss

There is a connection between the words spilled here and the physical form that holds my heart

And if I could strip both away for the day, I might

For time spent here consistently continues to unwind something inside that has been safely contained for a lifetime so far

Until everything is uncomfortable and vulnerable and there is nothing left to lose

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