Unrestricted. Stealing time.
Unregistered waste. Failure to
reject which way is the way to
proceed. A fortune in words.
Freedom is the release of the
positives as they float past in
a river of foolish hearts.
It’s the in-between that belongs
with the lost. Those who produce
letters where the ink weeps from
from the pages. They know the
truth of the story.
Pencils scratch the names of
places we’ve been. Dreams point
the way. We hold the fire to
close; the sun misses nothing.
