Seeking Presence.
Held tight to side
While leaking essence.
Tweeting guesses
And holding presses.
Firmly folding
Rolling messes.
Cascading down, made whole with tresses.
I know not life before confessions.
Of what? You ask, I bask in lessons,
Wrought from strife and tight impressions
Made in mind, in kind with reason.
We can feed lead logic's treason
From the heart, departs the senses.
So confined in mind, is census.
Ordered, timed, outlined emotion.
Outlying fines may find a notion.
And cash the check the mouth has wrote,
Its found at last that it is smote.


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