Poem 10 Revised

{Title Forthcoming}

 

I found one hundred pounds but gave it all away.

The money is hyperbole: I lied to

Keep a copper pence coin worth half

A slice of bread borrowed from a roommate.

I’m not behind the lines drawn in the kitchen

Yours & Mine

One hundred pounds won’t be spent on flour.

 

We left our silhouettes in alleyways.

Ate our way through creameries

Melting sticky fingers remember cotton-paper

currency can be dry with possibility; might be

everything might be anything at all

where we’ve wandered the poverty

trading bread and ice cream

Fullness & Sweetness

Bread: lines in a sandwich are walls around a mouth

Sugar cream makes mockeries of these geometric boundaries

Maps mark the lines to and from, not yours and mine

 

Dug up one hundred pounds to hide away

The money was knowledge, but you try telling

Readers collecting memories in dog ear’d novels

As the story grows in throes,  the body rows

Some passages whispered, others on a podium

Most wooden men are soapboxes shouting

From street corners in idiums about

Lost currency on concrete. Beauty

Marks our misfortunate faces. How Beautiful

A morning with a pocket’s painted possibilities.

 

Wander with me, and wonder

If fullness or sweetness decides

the stationary philosophy we stamp for the post.

It was a ghost, littering the streets with gold

And we sowed our wild oats in the mortar.

Through the egress of an average existence, with

One hundred pounds on our backs, all we ever had.

—ECW

Poem 10 Editing Poem 10 Original

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