the days day

the days day is more than the hours
24 says the clock, an arbitrary division
the cyclical spin of the cycle of days
is exempt in the workings of the brain

the days the hours seconds years decades
are a liquid sea of endless measure
there is no beginning and no end in a thought or a feeling
the mind is ever expanding ever growing
the multiplication of moments is no longer the moment

the facsimile of the faces and voices
remain tattooed on the circuitry
and the memory takes on the reality
rivals the reality and usurps it
and so we remember things just we remember them

the echo that bounces off the heart
becomes the heart; the sound, the energy of the heart
is multiplied in a million sets of memories that play and replay
the lonely brick that turns to a house becomes the world
and so it is with the light's end that the dance begins again

and another day shines form on the imagery of the spirit
the ghosts that roam within are much more real than the spinning globe
the repetition of words on paper, the machinery of hands and fingers
mind and thought; heart and spirit; want, desire; love and ... and what?

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