THICK, BROWN POEMS #3.

 DUST SETTLES 

I’ve got gold in the mountain.

Only want for silver in the stream.

My name is change.

Life was once written in the mud

and set in the rocks.

Wanting what you haven’t got.

To eat the flower growing above

the dead with no name.

The coin in the slot

once its been dropped.

Wanting all breaths in one.

Clear yellow beams

from across the door.

Your life’s spit on silk

shine way blame.

“Whats in your bag old man?”

“My heart. Let in rust

in this here green tin.”

Nothing stops.

More so when you want it to.

Can i swap my name

for time in blissful ignorance?

Probably not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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