mahalo

the gods of mercy have their fingers 
in everything of the day as the 
recent memory of 
sheets of snow 
peeling magnificently from 
the crowded city rooftops 
and their inhabitants 
and Mother Gaia whispers 
coins of good chance 
into the grateful pockets 
of bums and poets... 
things diminish quietly 
in their cost as 
one finds more, finds value 
in the light trickle & flash 
of dopamine 
reminding breath of 
its purpose. 




**** 

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