An efficient excision really helps,

when you narrow your sights to the open
air between Moon and Master – the heart yelps –
and the spirit cuts down on chains broken:
Which though rusted and broke can still confine,
until you notice that feet, firm on the ground –
unbound by shackles, unfettered from shine –
dig toes into earth where flowers abound:
Pull up a few, and have a profound whiff;
you'll like the scent, since it is your own heart,
released from the nebulous haze so stiff
like starch on a pantleg, which creases part:
This increases the feel of your own skin,
which is the point from which true arts begin.
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