Saturday, December 10, 2016


I have a hundred things here, and a
checklist made of glass; the moon 
sits outside for the duration. This
window just stares back.
There's every thing  -  just like
this  -  bursting its seams to get 
out, and I somewhat want all of it,
and nothing at all : like my heart
in an infinitesimal snowfall.

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