there is a feeling
that has threatened
to burst for so long;
then, forgotten,
while in aimless transit
from room to room,
from excuse to excuse,
from the chore to the chain
of eating and eliminating,
the feeling finally surges,
nothing seismic or even simmering;
a quiet, internal flash
that colors indistinct angles
with discrete meaning
i don’t yet understand;
meanwhile, i’m just
practicing with my eyes.
michaelcoccari.com
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