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.



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