Nora Byrne
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Words

Arts, Arabic, Adventures

Fixed

It’s been too long.

My cords start to crack caught up in this and that and it might be sweet and spiced soft and slow, but still I’m restless to say what I don’t need to know.

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It’s been too long it’s been a lifetime of daydreams in alternative alphabets and with tongue tied, now limited to simple words I navigate like stations without screens, standing at the side to frantically question those who don’t understand why I worry.

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I keep running but it’s in my hair spiced and smoky, it’s at a strange level of ease where words weave but eyes won’t meet.

Moving rapidly from minimal prose to diary I’ve no rhythm and can’t dance, I stand to the side of the milonga while they tango under the glow of antiquity.

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It’s been too long standing to find meaning in long and short vowels. They don’t twist like they used to they rest tauntingly in their lawful place in order and limited expression. Worlds widen with more words and I stitch -ou to the end of each word curl my tongue on each r but find myself groping blindly in my own authority.

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Take a few cautious steps and I want to follow but I’ve been known both to lead and to choke and I keep catching breaths of spice and sweet and smoke.

They leave me shaky but not sad leave me breathless and calm leave me somewhere between profile and prohibition.