clumsy penny

i count my pennies with the

clumsiness of my left wrist.

my fingertips stumble upon

lifting these silver tins, before

my eyes; as i examine the glean

and rust of each rounded chip.

i wonder how it is, that these

shallow etchings are drawn beside

the reshaping of your carved

intellect, our shared dreams, our

bold visions. and as the thought

escapes me, my fingers fumble

and like our tattered foresight; all

is soon, strewn and abandoned

for insipid wonder.



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