A Bar in Space

A muse

Whose gaps between her t e e t h close over time only to wear away over time until the gaps return without



Something pressing blinks. The only real line on this page.

The gaps – only the g a p s – are tell tales, taking out bites.

Spaces between expand or contract according to the heat, according to the beat of typing of the keys. I press an absence, a bar in space five characters long. I press again. It presses me.

The pressure just enough for the touch sensitive. Then follows the hollow  s o u n d and that is the          s  o  u  n  d o  f  s  p  a  c  e          justifying the line to move vertical across the page as I push it along with a press of the cursor, nudging words off the screen and watch it  p u l s e  out so that unnecessary spaces make the  w o r d s back up against the white but then we do know that  s p a c e  is always necessary for things to  b r e a t h e though the  k i s s of l i f e is an exception to this rule.



To the instruction


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