Fundamentally, the brain
Itself sees nothing, but the more You crawl into your brain, the more You see, an Eden in the floor, Lust turns into love, the desert Saturated orange fades and shines, At night the chilly stars hang Comets fall in northwest lines. Whale songs travel for a thousand Miles. The brain of the whale, the mind, The tempo and the intervals, A stillness that cannot be confined.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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September 2019
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