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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #1468163
Before reviewing, know what a "concrete poem" is. CTRL - backs you away from the screen.

Though I walk through the door
of either or
no more, no more;
I find a new hall of doors
through which I go for,
and at the end, a window
to my life: an onion.
Until now one layer
at a time, coming off—
revealing the odious next layer,
finding nothing more than the same, the same, the same.
The same I know, the same old layer I beheld before.

So I walk towards the new;
the unlocked door
when through, when through;
I see a point on the floor
and I discover
another blade, another blade;
and I smell: an odor
until now was hidden
by my glum consciousness.

But I learn this repulsive
new fragrance will bring
nothing more than
more tears, more tears.

More tears pour out,
the tears that would not
be without, within.

Now I hold sharp,
the blade I found
and I slice, I slice,
and see?  I can peel
the layer again and
again I peel it, I peel
it off and off more
and more come off
and then surprise,—
beneath the surface,
emerges another,
other, odious

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