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i have a problem with words.

i have a problem with words.
us, we use them, we throw them
away, hold onto what they meant
but keep going as though they
were never said; or maybe we
hold on to the thought and watch
as it slowly falls from view, a
sort of leaf and we’re caught in canopy
, out of touch with the effects
of a collision between dug/filled ground and new.

Music is my muse, and the words my lovers. What else does one need?
i know you're reading this

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musings & scribbles