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  • Sometimes it's too lonely
    caught sharp on a short breath
    instincts yanked chain living inside man
    that seems to be living without any words
    warning or effort to return

    Memory
    comes on so hard sometimes
    the throat burns
    nose pre tears
    the eyes , well
    they absolutely must look away
    again and forever.
    We were born that way, you see, don't you?

    Not even facing yourself is possible
    in the company of those who lived that score
    let alone being caught out in public.

    For those who have never felt it, then they are blessed
    those who sleep, play, run
    or are born so gay that laughter is the only coin,
    Or anger, fear, honor and so many other types of memory

    but the one I speak of..
    I can't speak of
    not now
    not here not ever.. any more

    no.. it is my cello
    my viola, Bass
    violins ....
    a soft woman's sopranno prayer that pulls
    all strung out in a walled off truth
    never to be found
    the one's too few knew.

    and maybe that's better
    that we go
    make our own terms
    keep our own stride
    resting time
    thoughts we may have searched after
    a courage that waits
    till someone else makes the journey

    The warmth of spring came for me today
    maybe that's what it is.. endings , begginings... the subtle heart
    just in time as change
    as the two ghosts had to finally part
    for at least awhile anyway..
    you see..
    both of them were still living
    both had still to forget,
    hop shore.
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