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Window Made of Holes

it was intimate of course
the bedsheets
which reflected the sky
that window straight into God's mind
and my eyes too

you know when the clouds
move so fast, so fast
and the world spins like it should
your body spinning too
and there's somethign wrong right then

a little hole that traps you
let's you feel, let's you think
what you shouldn't know or notice.
who's slip is that? God's?
or is it continual chances
to see if we can find what its all about
and still continue to breath?