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Monthly Archives: July 2012

I know not why my head wishes scribbling
Maybe to ease the sense of knowing
These days can end.
Maybe feeling them in difference
In heat of summer where winter rain threatens,
Or moments of spring where fall fails fulfillments
What heat tryes to cast of desperation
Or maybe I have been reading
Shakes-spear to much
And I have paid for street parking
And want every moment.
It, the purchase temporal,
Real -I- state the end of the bus station
Come and go
Come and go
Like my last love,
Like summer again
In its minute occupation and temporal heat
Scribbling is a space rented
Between birth and death,
The training and the maze,
Between love and longing
I scribble what would be life’s graffiti
Washed off cold
On buildings themselves
Made other wise
Useless when they shelter
Commerce and failure.

I could walk from here to the Library
To the apple orchard, describing
What ever mistakenly reached
For thinking it would further
Her love , god , moment
I can only sit in shade the heat hurts
Pains what process
Inside needed clarity for
A balance of why’s