Thought is a centipede !
Mind is the centipede twisting in turns,
of that which is here in sudden burns,
that makes it walking all at once, in once,
freedom is a image build in words crude,
its a centipede moving just like a thread,
one, then two and then infinity of eternity,
as the expanding universe inside the thought,
making all of that which counts as thirsts,
centipede searching for identity of a man,
centipede searching for identity of a man,
of sex, sorrow and the pride holding the floors,
it moves of that which is a mind eating whole,
searching sung of this to that is the ultimate home !
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