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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Bullets below bare feet *12/25/13



There are times we are apt to fire off,
self as rifles,
directly up into the sky overhead
and the bullets,
be they words or gestures,
move ever swiftly to a place
of high nanosecond frozen-in-time residence, 
far above their intended meanings.
They were the fashioned participants
of a reaching out,
an attempt at an unearthly embrace,
that quickly traveled so far,
so innocently far,
to be held, preciously held so shortly,
only to fall back
into the anonymous composition
in the dust of the past.
There is an empathy
in the near ground around us all,
reclined within
are our buried high intentions from then.
For the forms we manifest,
gravity has our back.
No love is ever lost,
even if left undiscovered in the now.
So many highs are rooting for us and yet barefoot near, underground beneath,
and apparently unknown in the now . . .

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