Off a train of thought,
signs point up
to higher functions,
down to baser instincts.
A mindpost warns:
synaptic lapse ahead.

Now, I’m treading
a familiar path
in the gray.
All around me
light flashes
the path is slick and wet
soft walls rise
a ditch become a canyon
this place is old
those voices are echoes.

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Wed 04/07/04 at 12:02 pm

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