8.06. 2017 (Losing It)

Carrying hope for better days, like flickering flame

White wax on cold fingertips

 

Blisters from grip, slipping

Jump start like now and not later

Favor the moment when the moment’s

Flavor is sweet and the sweetness

Is not lost on burnt tongue and

Burnt jacket

 

Horticulture escape into green meaninglessness

The feebleness of communication

Crossed lines that shake like tightrope

Slope is only downhill

 

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