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Z Deep.

from the weather
in your artificial cave,
controlled environment.

Count your lucky stars,
somewhere up
there, obscured from view,
brought to you
by the damned light pollution.

Wrap yourself in a cocoon
of warmth
inside a box within a box,
try and fall
comfortably within, deeper
than the skin,
bodies like Russian dolls
in Chinese boxes,

into reflections
nesting reflections,
cleansed in the plunge
into this dark, unconscious sea.


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