Yet. But who knows? With so much uncertainty ahead you
don’t have control how this will morph. It could take
one path and choose not to be. Bad, bad, yes, but
the span of your attention has expired like a breath,
are you expecting a rebound from your next breath?
This poem couldn’t hold you down either. You could leave
before the next line withers. When you do, this poem
can abort, abend like software and cast
a blue screen on you.
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