They say you will forget it if you don’t write it down

My nights are swelling with dreams too soon forgotten

Moments too quickly passing

Leaves changing

Thoughts escaping into the dust of these old bones

In the pain of this creaking back

In the disgust of my inability to act


These dreams which enter and inspire

They are fleeting and impatient


They are children crying for attention

Turning in another direction once it is too late


Feel it

Pulse Pulse Pulse


Through the ink

Through the paint

Through these bones

Who only contact computer keys and cold coffee other wise

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