Someday I don’t know how
I hope she’ll hear my plea
some way, I don’t know how
she’ll bring her love to me
                        Prince Rogers Nelson and Morreno Marta, Dream Lover
If I dislocate my thoughts just slightly,
even a few degrees, from the closed line
they were on, to run parallel to how
they really are now (“really are” being
an ontic other opened by the space
between these now parallel mental tracks),
can I travel like a train to cities
in exotic countries where life is free
from the skins encasing our brittle bones,
and what’s allowed to speak and think about
flows freely, not from the word’s determined
chains, but from my heart directly to yours?

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