January 2, 2017

There’s a rolling tone

Set in my mind,

Layed there gently,

Of the casual kind, 

By now dead men -fellows

With a few

Chosen words

Folded up into pieces

Of paper teens’

Twenties’ third’s…  

Passed through the keyholes

Of poetry past

From yester-thought to

My heart, trembling, fast  

In the hands of death

Life writes forward

Over lapses



Intrepid as youth

And yet how old

They read

As we read

And breathe

The same creases

To fold.


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