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the mind is its own place
ann townsend
mated and unmated,
with their devotions
until the tree roils
and sways, wing-beats
sounding the torrent
through which they swim.
dopamine, paroxetine,
an injection of adrenaline
into the bloodstream:
these deliver the dissident
fuel i 3 for the mind's
pleasure, and for its pain.
call it one song indispensable
to trouble the branching
4. the willow divinates
toward water, switching
in the breeze; it grazes
the edge but cannot
rest there. my fingertips
pressed against my temples:
ten points of sensation,
a 5 cage where
starlings congregate
to 6 their chaos,
their alphabet blown to bits
in the wind's rush.
yes, you heard me.
like an 7, plato said,
the mind is full of birds.
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