words heat the cold

words heat the cold floorboards

feed longing for the stricken answer

if words were the sudden wisdom of all ages

there would be power in a spoken windswept smile

lining the pockets with candy bars and heathen bread

and leaded ropes to climb stairways to the sky’s limits

it would be necessary to become a lost soul of which we already are

to find oneself in this hungry world full of things that float in midair

in which the observed is so intense and the unobserved lingers alone

with our duty as conscious beings to do nothing but

to decide what it is that we want from the alcoholic bottle of life.

 

 

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