Over flow

I blame the currents for why I pull pause out of a bathtub of ink.

Yes most certainly,

fault can be found in the drops of breath beating on the wings of a butterfly, or the eye lashes of a homeless man,

look there the honey bee flying beneath a strand of web,

and see how the grass between my fingers

squeaks like a stick in a small child’s hand

tapping off diamonds in a chain link fence.

In the morning I lick honeycomb,

pray for discernment

see what sticks

and then


I write…


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