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liminal

all too soon, we’ve returned to streets colonized

by holiday masses. my blood slows

to a sluggish crawl, desires muted

even as my mind races

on a stationary bike. here

in this season of mandated rest,

i feel profoundly dislocated.

time pools like lakes of fat

on a cooled stew, days stretching

into a horizon of uncertainty. molding away

at home, i long to unzip my skin,

be charged with purpose.

meanwhile, a nagging voice buzzes

in my ear like tinnitus: “this time

is a gift from the universe” -

no fucking pressure.


tell me, how do i absolve myself

of this constant need to produce?

my compulsion to optimize, bias

for action? i need to accept rest

as a sacred part of life’s rhythm.

allow myself to simply exist,

untethered for now. here

in this fallow season, all i can do

is pursue what lights up my soul.

trust that the hunger will return.

that one day soon, my pulse will quicken,

rousing me from this moribund state.

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