Last night as I was slipping off into sleep, I heard a word, plaintive on the breath, a tiny voice saying hello, remember me, my passion, my soul, you used to care, you used to play, you used to feel, you used to......
I said the word aloud. I remembered my passion with words. I remembered the feelings, the unfathomable expressions that somehow got captured in letters and stanzas. I remembered the muse, the architecture, the foundations and free-form. I remembered the discussions about the your death, your revival in rap and your fractal patterns in free verse. You were an old love of mine. You have gone neglected, I admit. But I do not know, when I will pay attention to you again. However, for the moment, I remember the sweet goblin fruit and the sun and the interplay of magic with words and Iowa landscapes and meanings that reveal themselves eventually or not.
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