try to envision the wind sweeping through your hair
the static charge that lifts your senses and peaks at point
a feeling so removed, yet so familiar to the few who walk the shores
our hand reaches for the entity, but can only grasp a reconstruction
this provokes the boy in the mirror and the girl in the cube
they seek aspiration within the framed illusion a postcard prescribes
it's a want to be bare among the midst of absurdity
but always,
the hood approaches
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