Sometimes I think I walk on air
Where wispy river mist currents rush through my clothes and tear
These rolled up sleeves of mine
The breeze, just wearing these finger bones down fine
My tips are shrivelled to be the circumferance of surface tension
Allowing me to float in a water bubble suspension
Only fear pops me from my rise
And this dream gently falls and dies
And I forget that this body of mine has weight
Of dead, lifeless precipitate
Cold and unmoving
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