Bald short poem

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It’s like breathing:
At odd times you become aware –
Not after jogging up seven floors
Or escaping an accident
With exhilaration, not regret,
Those times are givens –
Rather existing within a crowd
In the audience before a play
Immersed in the language
Not meant for you, the human fog
Syllables, scents, a fantasy
Of motion at your peripheral vision
You realize you’re breathing
You’ve been breathing
That you can control it
But just like with that specter sleep
You’ll eventually let attention
Lapse and be stolen –
So in answer to the question
That you didn’t ask:
No I don’t really think about it
Until I realize I need a haircut
And my options being fewer
I don’t think about it for long

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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A self-realization that comes from personal experiences…


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