I wish I could be more pure. More transparent. As if being pure were an effort; if it were then even a tenth of the effort I use to exercise my muscles could be diverted and made into a flexible purity that would give smiles to those who me well. My existence is instead a lonely flame, tethered to and a part of, a body consuming energy…for what? Zest has become a foreign country. Travel arrangements are lengthy and visas expensive. When did zest become so inaccessible? Zest is like a color unseen for so long the hue is barely remembered; a geometry rendered sterile. Like all the other un-seen, un-heard, un-touchable-un-tastable-un-smellable experiences of life, zest is an elusive conjugation of the senses and sense.


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