snail in a Rothko

Back to the darkness, to the sleeplessness, a return to the baby-faced snail in the hollowed ground, unctuous, bumping into roots and rhizomes, antennae yearning, moving forward over ground, slowly leaving itself behind, a dying phosphorescence, dial on a light dimmer, drenched dirt granules clinging to the sodden veil of slime and the emptiness it carries a safety to crawl inside, to collect and distill, gather itself in monolithic sadness

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