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  • Endless purgatorial descent,
    I burn and twist and stop again.
    No silent bliss here, no chase of thrills.
    The pleasing swish is watered down.
    Nothing effortless about this glide:
    My feet disgraced in strange contortions.
    I will them left and they swing right.
    I merely linger through the motions.


    This is a poem about the place where I currently live (and which I would love to consider home, at least for a while). I am linking it to another wonderful initiative which Cowbirders might enjoy: a poetry meet-up called dVerse Poets Pub, where we were encouraged (this time) to talk about our homes.
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