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[randomly selected from all my photos here]

It's cruel (by Josh Mandel)

It's cruel,
how small our windows are:
the pipes through which we breathe,
mufflers that dampen and leave words
sentiments expressed in the
frigid vacancy of a hollow voice,
or a twenty-six character world.
And there we are,
stretching media,
fingertips just glancing,
only a memory of warmth
conjured up across the void.
And the suffocating stars,
one by one extinguished
in the thinness of it all,
call me back to the fact
of impending sorrow -
of the way decisions
have traveled, followed me,
grabbing hold, somehow,
despite the vacuum.
But it's hard to look around,
senses straining to strip off the noise,
head cocked and hypersensitive,
jumping at the least provocation.
It's disconcerting, flailing in a state like this.
I'm taking things as they come.
[randomly selected from 21 poems/paragraphs here]

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