December 15, 2020
Weak in the limbs of my limbs, extensions of their potential gestures limited by an elusive bauble of mind moving freely in the sacristy of head where anything might occur, I'm weak in my extensions. I can't say how far this weakness goes. I can walk. I can move. Yet I cannot understand how. There are no limits in truth, but that truth is kept locked away in a very private place. Weak in the means by which I'm cause, effects tumble down nerves. They tingle my raptures. How I value these sensations is a mystery. What isn't a mystery?