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Frequently Strange Chronicle Part Six

Whispering thoughts in the peripheral air concede an avoidance with gracious magnitude. When the stasis sets in, where will your walking be? Next week the wind will change again, since when will the forehead keep containing it all? Loose stored advocates are not welcome at the hearth anymore.

Door to Door shadows linger even when the most influential paradigm appears unwilling. Preparing preposterous, agonizing and transformational pathways  entails constant visits to the sanitized scissors. Secretly staring down every barrel when the grinder kept working on the last nerve. Starting to swerve when the moment came, never managing to stay quite the same, working inside three membranes. Attention wanes as the daybreak disdains her last attempts.

A madman's  workshop held a spiraling staircase upwards. Small stairs each become bigger, gigantic at the top, each leg and step stretches to keep up. At the top of a grand hall, cannot get my last foot through the closing opening. Such ordinary things at each level reappearing in mostly the same way, it hit like a slow burning fire. Shrinking expectations trapped in a limitless tower. With the snow shoes on, in back of a house underneath a wooden porch. A group of people you've known so long without names exchange exhausted emotional glances.

-Ed Tajchman

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