My poetry comes out differently now
It floats out when I breathe
Spills from my eyes
Locks up my words
I can walk away now
From a blank and longing page
And my soul still dances in time with cosmic winds
And though on occasion
My poems still do leak through the nibs of my various pens
To fill the pores of this page
Canvas to my imagined genius
For the most part now
I inhabit the spaces between words
And each breath is a volume
A universe unto itself
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