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One True Sentence

Every story, every song, must end. Not true.
Logic fails. Longing, never. At dusk there is always
Something more to yearn for
grit of need
raw pulse
wet shine against what we call void but
there is a light reflected in the eyes of wild
Creatures stag, wolf, old house cat
on the prowl in deep night beneath
the trees where parasites need and gnaw
on apples left to fall
O this tree turned to pulp for paper
to writearecipe for strudel made from
those other apples, while it bakes discuss
How Spirit moves our many many lives
legerdemain or enlightenment
Boddhi satva, appletree, applestrudel,
Appleofmyeye thing I yearn for
ever, the next story in
the braid that links the worlds
In this one the horse so hungry
for the world beyond the stall
Giddy with desire he eats all
the apples and then

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