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I  
am a feeble man
with
hapless thoughts
I
face my gravestone
THINKING
of
dead poets
their words are restless
and
forever out there
seeking
those in need.
There
in
silence
in the still of the sight
I RiP.
how
Tonight I want to
write something beautiful

say it perfect so you call it a poem

read it again;
How pretty
now that it’s about you

call me
call it love on Tuesday
again like cinnamon
tomorrow like coffee

never too early
late like my timing &
no-meaning-nothing

good morning
cheers too for something

kiss the moon
smack the sun
eat a star and call it breakfast
I dare you
Ax
the branch that left the tree , returned as an ax .
quickly the fire truck
jumps from its station
clamoring into traffic
disrupting its flow
like a boulder sat in water
the cars swerve and collect
on the side of the road
only to soon return to their stream
the casual chaos continues
and I wonder what it’s like
to be able to go about routine
when tragedy is occurring
just up the river
Could've sworn I saw a light
Buzzing through the pines
On the hillside
Gazing down at me
Like a singular eye of god
Peeking through reality
Wondering what's become
Of it's creation

Opening myself up
That same light protruding
Nearly went blind
And felt strangely vacant
Like that divine intervention
I prayed for by candlelight
Finally extended its hand
But retreated last second

Saw that shine again
This time in the eyes
Of a deer by the lake
Couldn't stand the scrutiny
Quietly shuffled my fingers
To the trigger of my gun
Aimed best I could
Tarnishing the light for good
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