(ACT)OR. . .
realize the glory
that we are poets and
clowns pretending
in an imaginary realm.
A vessel bound by ease
and effervescence. Momentum
in our stillness, we propel forward
into the abyss. Howling wildly
into the unknown with our
pants around our ankles. Our own tears
mean almost nothing. We shit a lot
and hold fist-fulls of duende. We
cultivate not knowingness as
we become the last magic
the world will ever know.
-sonja lynn mata
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