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Passively
stumbling through life
I
happened upon it
There
on quayside north of extremes
I
mated malleability with prescience;
She
fumbled her clothes off for the world to see
Now
she flails as well, whilst spectators fall past
Unaware
I’ve
wondered long and hard
But
know only this
The
architecture of the mind contains more than three dimensions
Each
room believing itself unique
Leads
inexorably toward the centre
Dissuading death again.
©
James Cross
Thursday, 6 March 2003