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ODE TO THE COLLECTOR
fishing in the empty pool
gleaning from the hollow waste
it’s a dead end and a frigid case
yet you can’t accept
what they have to say
always swearing that there’s meaning
will you ever learn not
to chase hearts that don’t want you?
will you ever stop looking for
keys to doors with no locks?
playing in the abandoned playground
prying through the deserted dreams
collecting snippets, tidbits, echoes
amongst the peanut shells and ripped seams
and stashing them in your pillow case
you can’t resist searching for the place
where it all holds some semblance of sanctity
what catharsis are you looking for?
what justifying clarity?
i’d like to see the tapestries you weave
stealing the outtakes and nurturing the weeds
manufacturing the fragments no one needs
making a living out of ghost songs
digging in the shallow trench
dancing on the grey terrain
a love affair with the scraps and excess
with the uncharted abstract in-between
there’s no coming back
when you scavenge off the outskirts
saving what’s meant to be forgotten
reviving what’s meant to be left behind.
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