For the generation that never marched....
learning white tipped wings
icy against green spring
cannot stand glass jars
thinking of rivers
we swam
like salmon
living on pennies
lost in small spaces
holding history
with our feet becuase
hands are tied
actin' polite
to the mannerless
fighting to eat together
yet dining alone
looking for the last
good gumball in the machine
wishing that the road
less traveled
were better lit
loving in red because
blue leaves us
bitter and white
caressing angry words
disguised by
smiling cursive
bringing home
treasures in brown
paper bags
living in pieces
of a love yet to be assembled
closing the door
on what was
when the scent remains
knowing that like relativity
all things
come back to motion
and the movement moves on....
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