even if you cast me out,
into a cardboard box,
a solitary cell,
or a bed with a disintegrating brain,
I will share with you my heart,
I will give my body,
in exchange for truth,
and for the light of existence,
I will take the leap over the edge,
and find the featherbed,
or bed of nails,
I do not know even a second more,
and not the least shape of things,
but I will listen to you,
dear life,
and I will fold,
like the canals,
through the city,
and I will sing my soul loudly,
just because I’m alive,
not by mistake,
but by mystery

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