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Deep in Soma Soil.

Will I forever
just end up back
where I always begin,

stripped
of all I gained,
memories fading
out of mind’s reach
again on this raped rights,
no mercy,
gunpoint drive
back to square one?

Spiritual cell dissociating,
compartmentalizing
as my inner eye
tries to hold tight,
keep sight

as its ripped away.
As I am ripped away,
left with a moat of missing frames
cut from the films of mine
such an eerie abundance
suggesting ancient reels.

All these parts of me
missing,
scrambled,
surely a disinformation stew
of half-truths and bullshit
between me and my third eye,
snoozing free of vicissitude,
hidden on the other side,

cozy in its slumber
deep in soma soil,

beneath amnesia,
dreaming to the rhythm
of these skipping
cycles of the skin,

hypnotized by the steady beat
of my feet as I run
in a path well worn into a rut
I must rise
from to integrate
the buried across the chasm,
to awaken.

A rut that I must
transcend if I am ever
to live a life
before it ends.

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