The hungry ghost of seven generations is present
I am aware of the hot knife cut behind my ears, around my head to my chest,
cauterizing the veins.
The cry for satisfaction rings with the pressure of 1000 voices
I bow to it, awestruck, grimacing, for the evening.
When gravity releases and reduced to static, I can question it:
But in the meantime; how did I ever think it possible to push this away?
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