I am a tiny core of intent and plans
pressed upon by layers and layers
of tangled unraveling loose threads.
My mouth is muffled by distractions,
my hands are paralysed
by the pull of opposing sides.
My eyes are blinded by sleep,
heavy and light-sensitive.
My heart is a fat old bird in a cage,
fluttering its wings with little effect,
yet believing that every single wing beat
causes a quake somewhere,
shaking immovable Things,
rumbling changes.
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