And she threw a plate at him, and the next one threw a beer bottle through a clap of thunder, but I just chucked a handful of change on the pavement, mostly nickles and dimes, no pennies.
I write a poem
to forget that
my story is half-told
and will always be half-told
until I die and it is not told at all. All poets wish to be prophets, foretelling moments of non-existence, sculpting the half-story into a satisfying lump,"To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question..."
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