what can the wind say
that my blood does not already tell me
does it know better the ways of the world
....than the forged cataracts of my body.
if it be outside, apart, unalive from life
a distant terror and gentle friend to imagination alone
my imagination or the one which I am in
then it should not cut God
god of this world
I of it
alone it's witness of witnessing
damn the nasty evil wind
coming unbidden
what does it know about being to one such as me?
if I feel it to me,
what me does feel that which isn't really real?
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