The Mind

Breath stolen by spinning disks of obsidian,

turntables hitching in midst of old voices; trapped in the moment

etched lines the mother of sweet sound,

reverberating through vast chambers of the rambling heart –

crumbling frozen spindles of the mind;

a key to ricocheting memories

thawing the long spent cries to forgive,

lost in bombardment through steel-tipped thoughts.

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