My compass lies :: prev :: next :: An artist (Pfiefer) A face (no name, yet) A warm glow, deep, something I had, quite honestly, forgotten. This means nothing, now, it may later. That warm is back but it is real (real) or only because I'm leaning over. All a dream? a few short moments, (of agonizing . . .) shall surely let me know. Sorry, I "took another trip down memory (lane)" It should not be expectation, but instead reflection. No sense, then ask . . . Now I honestly write by candle light while sounds of far off clocks and water fill my ears. "I need to say something," says the enemy "You're controlled by tissue," says the ally but in the end, my compass lies. © 1988 john r. chase
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