fallen, that, like worded air
the mind in regret to have forgotten the probable importance
of something great.
kept, in pockets, abstract
you are mocking me in your metaphorical sarcasm
and the sun is wide in its breath.
while so many secrets are caged in our pockets
I find it shameful
I smell them like cold coins
waiting to buy freedom
aren’t we done, tainted by time
dead in your lack of air and revelation.
you told me the future, the upper reaches of the sky
would be blooming and kind, settled in their beauty
nothing more to tell about the insignificant
the parcels of tomorrow
someplace to rise
the more you talk
the more I dig.