SOMETIMES
As I sit alone now, which happens
often enough, I realize all I don't
understand. This life is a thin piffle,
like 'He don't need any of that now,
sir, put it all out at the curb for picking.'
-
Like pure, sifted, flour, that's a line
direct from somewhere. What else is
left when that final glimmer goes?
-
The small mountains 'round here are
like statuary, and all in a row.
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