Schizoid capitulation
I comb the crimson dark of eyelidsFar past corporeal eyes, I stare
to force open the third, wish to move
past the beast that bears me
through waking impulse
and view, in virgin, the origin of voice
But it is insanity I embrace
as I stretch reason
toward the unreachable
It is in sleep you have your home,
amorphous judge and pilot
Only when sleep tears down the world
I understand who we are
Poetry by Mikkel Mowinckel
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Written on 2006-10-18 at 03:34
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