as ink spills, i flow down that gently drying stream.
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greenishorangewhat sky what sky the sky is dead
Autoplay OFF  •  4 months ago

as ink spills, i flow down that gently drying stream.

and yet 
there are times that
 my feet 
carry me better than words—
 my steps a dull

echo for empty 
streets that crave dissonance
 rather than rêverie.

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bernardtwindwilGold CommaGranddad & story teller, tomthepo8.com
4 months agoReply
And now the darkness comes a creeping upon this poem. Great ob!!!!!!