scooping water by hand
praying by hand
writing poetry by hand
all laborious constantly
gathering up and dropping
getting down to fingers
plucking at ukulele strings
ukulele ukulele jumping fleas
getting down to nails
beds of them the crescents of them
down to the tree i have
on the side of my hand
the tree with four nail moons
below it
i want to be writing and making sense
but not meaning anything
being free
then because of this
we may arrive at the truth we arrive at
look at this
like a stick dipping into the surface
of our minds
ripples are words
**
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