Opened, unending

Midnight desires that drift pass sleep,

Hopefully honed in dreams I can keep

Not to be lost with tomorrow’s sun

More than poetry, more than strokes

On an illuminated screen;

Searching for illumination, a light

Of what this may mean.

Even when torn and plagued by splits.

Feelings may move and these stories


All in the linning of gold minds.

Mime like boxes searching for what

They contain. Blurred vision not blind,

And windows lead outside to pursuits

Of childlike freedom, traffic yet still

Playing in the middle of streets flooded

By rains that slowly wash away sincerity.

But suddenly this too was raised in


A verse only a conversation away,

One argument from mending broken

Hearts. One dollar short

Of rich similes; poured out

Painted museums.

These frame the letters hanging from

My walls, drifting back to safety.


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