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Air. The compass needle fails

not. It spins & settles. - Carolyn Srygley-Moore

It reminds me of a silver engraved compass, something showing a destination beyond magnetic poles but to answers of the spirit, divinity resting in the tip of its needle. Gravity has pulled down spirits heavily not heavenly for too long, so bones become weary with the effort of standing walking even a few steps becomes impossible. Pavements have become stained unclear, marked with filthy discarded elements of life being lived cheaply, disposable for its lack of value disregarded in an instantaneous exhalation of a breath I am still breathing air clean or not, I will not cease in my exclamation of life it is never a full period despite the commas that cry for me to pause in reflection, semi colons are null and void so ceasing to repeat or reflect needing to be known. 19

SPIRACLE JOURNAL Volume I Issue No. 1  

Re. In. Vent.