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Projections
© July 26, 2004, Roy Stucky

I hear my thoughts so clearly
But can't shove them into line.
A final force confines me
To a corner of my mind.

The breeze which fingers curtains
That are hung above my head
Disturbs the marble passage
That will one day form my bed.

The shadows slowly drifting
Are projections drawn from truth,
But cavern shows are feeble
Once your bonds have been cut loose.

Once you detect real flavor
No reduction tastes quite right.
So I abandon slumber
That avoids the morning light.