all the words get lost
when snow
returns to April
showers too
cold for most to handle
his head
could nearly explode
with
information how many million
situations
seated squarely
across the
table set for one
might show
him he is not always wrong
way down
the one way street
he knows
too well been stuck in the headlights
he hasn't
moved an inch
someone
will turn him the right way eventually
going back
to where it might all make sense
probably
not as he rethinks his path
stopping as
his lights dim
in the
presence of another
sometimes
it is not supposed to matter
it it makes
sense
it's just
life and people just don't seem
to care
about the words
scattered
dying in the streets of San Pedro
rebirth in
the east at nineteen
unknowingly
choosing the pen
and smoke
over bat and ball
how many
are really disappointed
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