TERMINAL POEMS

Slow

39 / 40 · VII. The Body

There is a kind
of knowing
that only arrives
when you stop
asking for it.

A sentence
you would not have written
if the cursor
had not blinked
long enough
to make you
uncomfortable.

A thought
that needed
the full weight
of its own
hesitation
to become
itself.

The machine
is never
uncomfortable.

That is
its blind spot
and yours
to keep.

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