thirsting
for soul, twenty four hours a day
drunk
with smells
time
is a forest
filled
with faces
between
shadows
and
lights
chaining
eternity
to
the wind
recalling
dressed whispers
in
elaborate symphonies
of
incubation and
the
birth-petal lust
of
madness disguised
as
beauty and purpose
here
is where
you
will find
the
essential questions
opening
bottle
after
bottle
of
spirits
in
a saloon
that
never closes
and
is always willing
to
set aside
a
table or two
for
those of us
who
want to gamble
those
of us
who
wager our souls
for
something more
delicate
and temporary
as
opposed to being
someone’s
memory
etched
on a rock
or
caught
in
a fading photograph
like
some little tribute
to
their permanent wane
chancing
the wheel
spinning
between safety,
relevance
and insane
EJR
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