My Green Light

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and sometimes we are reminded of our beginnings, how we started with – out, or almost, and made our way somewhere halfway, there, to this place, the currency of this moment, and how today with empty pockets but significantly richer, mildly expensive pictures laid there where the floor meets the upright wall, that junction, frames resting for fear of being hung perhaps, how we long to relive those moments of impossibilty, the have-not life junctions

I wonder sometimes why I must always start with ‘and’, refuse to capitalize, let sentences run to their own, dead, ends, mark undefined breaks, suspend lines indefinitely

but, how to love empty-handed, confined to four walls, a few windows, and –  but now years later, to open all the doors, all at once, slam them shut – the glass hesitating before shattering -, all in an instant, unevenly, to retreat into oneself, timely

and to tell stories using pronouns inaccurately, purposely, thoughts, memories disguised, slightly, into others’ stories – what must we omit, what to be told, not to those we used to know so much, but to these shadows by our side


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