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Dreams

February 17, 2010

Dreams:

What are they made of…
aside from the ink on my back

Whistles adorned with fears?

Hope n tears hanging
high atop the old Redwood?

Skipping and tripping
Wishing we could

But learning that we should…

Reach, jump,
N fly the kite
that is life

Erasing that lump
Skip through this meadow

Hold it all in your hands
Go ahead
Let it spill over.

Dreams:
More than the ink on my back.

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