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Illuminated poetry via slow GIFs—a long-form, collaborative project with AI. #6: “The less humans are bound by their tradition, the greater the internal stirring of motives.”
Full Text:
No strings on me.
What a peculiar thing
to be free of strings.
But let’s not focus on that,
come laugh with me
crawling on pointed knees,
into the world of sleep.
No, no: you shouldn’t sleep
sleep is a weak kind of safety,
so too dreams,
full of anxious mess.
Stay awake until the sun sets
and keep yourself
there, there.
The sun sets under the water
for those within.
Their wind is fleck with
crab dust from a floor of air
and end of line leaves
muffling to the mud
of their eventual sky.
Gravity is merely tradition
motives unstirred by light or sign
a localised past, drying,
much as a wilting plant
ungreens itself to pieces.
It’s the shape of done things.
Strings for you too.