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I’m from the never dying day, full of undying innocence.
From the jumping black feet and the sandy basin,
which I ran out of and became anew.

I came from colorless keys and curved fingers,
wooden beaters and stretched skin,
plastic tubes full of holes,
cold pedals on naked feet,
and lines, lines, lines with dots.

Out of the sun I fell,
and was found in gleaming wet chlorine.
Inside of pull-string pants I journeyed,
with bones sticking out at angles.
Obliviousness was I sprung from.
I landed in four yellow boxes, numbered.

I am from Mr. Marathon and Mrs. Do-it-all,
and from the ever escalating group of spirituals,
did I travel to the future with a goal.
From ground wheat loaves and honey in morning,
and fried zucchini strips, did I come from.

From mountains of boulders and walls of granite,
originating at the highest peaks of joy,
To the deep valleys of disappointment,
did I reside as a conqueror.

I captured the flag upon the bark chips,
suddenly I was home,
only to slip back down.
Then from syrupy depths I arose once again
to realize I was.

Sitting back,
browsing,
I carefully arrive at a place,
a place where I come from,
a place that is named individuality.





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