There's a sliding and a slipping, a never-stopping falling down the slanting sloping from where my life began on that hazy hilltop seen through a baby's eyes.
Seen through baby's eyes, a blurry world of shapes and of dazzling light, and everything's a mystery, pieces of a jigsaw scattered everywhere; how they fit and what they make only to be known
when in the chasm yawning
I lie and wait to die.
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