A lost intention follows

a misplaced adventure.  Shadows

become detours, spinning webs of

emotional misery and absence.

Morning yells that we are older.

Our shoes are stories lacking souls.

We breathe in ripples and then blur out

our needs as we shed cloudy desires.

There is a fast lane of words we

believe we can change.  Like

replacing a shirt or putting on a

hat, somehow hoping we can

shelve the pain as we try on

one skin and then another.


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