A
dollar across the board
kingdom
come
and
kingdom go
inside
every what if
is
another moment of life
ready
to be stolen
words
here
are
just playthings
in
a sandbox
that was only meant
to
be a held memory
of
how things pour
the
more into our reach
as our attachment
for everything
that
ever hurt
is
held to where
the
cold inside us
hopes, a
soul melts
in
the fleet silhouettes
that
the spider web catches
through
the window
perhaps
all of them
are
the ghosts of violets
in
the Spring
are
the owls
that
ask me
the
same questions
over
and over, again
what
is the currency
of
your Love
what
is it that
you
don’t have
time
for
EJR
©
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