We Never Happen

We Never Happen.jpg


I am rich
with ridged edges
rigged with street dreams,
sweet dreams,
the nectar of the gods.
Sunset. What is sunset?
An alliance, of sorts,
or maybe a sacrifice
buried in the language of departure,
or maybe the embrace of two gods
who cannot come to terms.
I am time, an abstract
with three hands
spinning about my face
with no destination in mind,
or maybe a journey
with no first step.
We never happen.
Maybe reality
does not see fit to spin us
from the film
of latent thoughts.
We never happen.



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