1. Icebergs of identity
My penguin thoughts flip-flops on icebergs,
Icebergs of identity; where I
believe I am,
they are afloat on my timeworn
memories,
from one cell to the magnitude of
grey
that weaves web over web as I
stumble;
over old books with dusty smell,
they stare,
as I
learn new hieroglyphics, to keep
those icebergs afloat, where I
believe I am,
they spread to the melted, ocean of memories.
Euphoria, those moments when the sun
of joy burns,
my ground dwindles as they spread to
the melted.
My penguin thoughts stand on edges,
melting!
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