Talking Oxygen

no, it doesn’t give or take away:
you recycle, like waves bowing,

vertebrae curling, grinds through
old passion, old knowledge

that it’s difficult to stay in a space
dying to cradle life, to tumble into something

other–driven by moon, whims on a string…
talking oxygen, invisible intangible

words language can’t control: loose grip
with scratches forming nothing but strides.

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