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On Surviving

by James Robert Rudolph

Little rattles within.
Shock and jolt me,
Short shifts settle loose bits,
packing cracks, vanishing interstices.

Swirling elements buffet,
twist me dizzy,
roll, tumble, dispatch me,
but I am a tight weave.
Bone and heart, tongue in groove,
solid mesh repels.

Stress cures the hide,
sinew strings taut to a hum.
Strummed on the wind,
I sound a high pitch.

Lissome, stealth-stubborn,
I am a tincture of me,
I am hard to move.
My mind is not unknown to me.

Copyright © 2015 by James Robert Rudolph

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