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, 
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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