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Breathwork.

 Between my transformation and yours lives oxidized breathwork. I
am waiting to be a waiting, a patient globe of grapes at fall's
expiring.
 Occult spices cannot save the onion. The union. At a younger age I
would have apologized and bracketed the mistake.
On Tuesday nights, at the Baptist Church basement, thin Chinese women
gather to play mahjong. They are polite and fierce at once. I wish I
were the silk woven into their blouses.
All these years, and the desire for community still paces my halls, like
the desire to change. Du musst dein Leben andern
 is one thing we never stop telling ourselves.
If I were a bright blue ball, what kind of ball would I be? 
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Author:Hamza, Alen
Publication:Prairie Schooner
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2016
Words:152
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