June 18, 2010
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In the darkness, ideas presented themselves like snowy white snakes

Slithering out of the brain

And onto the floor
They formed elaborate curls upon the blackest black ground

Spelling out discovery

And hissing out trepidation
I am cross-legged

On the floor
The snakes crawl

Round and round my limbs
As they twine gently

Ever upward
I become one of them

A creature of idea

A creature of no reality
I crawl

On my milky belly

For the next silver form

In the distance
I crawl

Into the darkness
In an instant, I become

A creature of consequence

A creature with no consequences
Blinding white

On the blackest black floor

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