Poem: Live, Live

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periods of inspiration

filter through my day

in the shower

while driving

(usually on the highway)

no pen or paper

texts in my phone

fifteen emails a day

But then there are moments

where inspiration

is like the stale

breath on your lips

something about it

reeks of everydayness

of something generalized

like every other boring sap

who stinks of garbage mouth

you brush and you scrub

and you try to feel like new again

with the shiny pieces

sparkling through with imagination

like childhood

Very few I think

forget as an adult

that childhood imagination

shouldn’t be shunned

but cherished

like a feeling of new-age revival

Bring out the broken pieces

repair them with relish

remember that you don’t

work to die

you make money

to live, and live and live

to be care free

and use time wisely

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