written while sittin'
there is no one who waits.
the one who waited
never was
Nor was content to assent
to what is.
nothing more than this exists
it is
found
and humorous
kind
no argument for or against rises,
the wave tosses the driftwood.
12.15.2014 on being encompassed by nothing more or less
From time to time I am rediscovering pieces of written breadcrumbs on the trail to this moment. 12.16.2020
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