looking at sand as thrown stones
or anything at its most basic elements
a cacaphony of simple things emerges
recesses and combines to produce noise
static that can't be differentiated or broken down again
but rather marched upon and held to one's chest and pinned
in the way we refuse to do to each stone
but find as a compound something simpler
something ugly and easy

all i want is to melt it down
put it in a centrifuge away from stains
and sounds and poison and keep it there like a secret
until we can see every strand
or stone divided and bathed in light
held tightly and dearly in suspension
we'll call it a suspension of belief
or a suspension of hardness
or if nothing else just a testament
to how frightened we all really are

i don't want to feel hard anymore
don't let this cup pass me by
rather keep me cold and wet and pliant
formless and too easily shaped
like skin or clay
if you'll ignore it's finer features.

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