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I often find myself pondering the absurd and often surreal nature of thought and language, where it moves and how it settles into the soul and transgresses boundaries. A poem (of thoughts and words) is a living thing with an essential yet mercurial sense of movement and flux. It is not fixed in time and space. It has the power to evolve and reconfigure itself. This is a vital aspect of the written and spoken WORD as a living essence, a shape-shifting force. The word as a breathing living being communes with us, enters us, alters us, inhabits us and then moves on. We are dialoguing with this...