four minute free prose.

starts at 5:00

The beginning is the middle,
is the end.
the time we sat wasted, we sat down at the table
prayed
like life was all about laying and laid
and getting to the next step
the next step, respect, the step after that is no longer neglecting
the one you love, the one you hold in sunshine and dreams
the cool steam, of the winter glass, as her lips touch the screen
weather is no longer, wether or not
how quick is your temper, boiling or hot
how long can you hold your head under water
before your buried or burned
and how long can my fingers keep writing, a ash for the urn
so i see four minutes is enough to write a point down
to sit with your fingers pressed on the keys now
and layed underground, is the heart of the heavy
we keep still in the grass, but our moves are steady
still striding for the green grasss under the umbrella
we live this super nova, but its not enough
already 503, not enough time for me
to write down, what i meant to say
free me be free, so when i sit down and record a lengthy song
we sit down and write poems
cause us poets don’t belong
writing.

5:04

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