it comes in three’s


i still believe
words are
magic

held in reserve
waiting to be
unleashed

but as i
approach this new ending
the word just won’t come

it’s like asking the whore for a hug
almost there, killed
and resurrected 10 times over

there’s still something
missing, unsaid
looking to be found

it’s never final
only
unfinished, so

spare me from consumer hell
understanding fools
and the death of originality

in the dream  a fortune teller
held three cards
child, adult, and old man

justice holds the knife
while the magician works a microphone
and the hermit, hunched types on a computer

wisdom
these were lessons
half learned and almost forgotten

life is
death and
rebirth waiting for a sign

remember the number 3
3 words,3 lines
3 pages, and 3 lives

 

 

 

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