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10 December, 2016

centripetal force

Ain't nobody got time today for form and process.

The wind cuts through two layers and the sherpa lining of certified work gear.

Or maybe it's just everywhere else that's cold.

A walking, heated thoracic cavity within icy knees and fingers.

Breach of protocol aside, it's a straight march to the dead center and the cracked stone table. 

Is it secret, is it safe - that burden left like so much litter, tucked up underneath this Fount of Over-Looked Blessing?

Somehow, it is. Right where I painfully dropped it - or was it wrenched from my Stockholm grasp?

And maybe that's why it all feels too easy - 

Everything is already where it is supposed to be.