
What will we do
When the old barn falls?
How will we remember
How it sheltered us all?
What sound will we hear
When the walls lay down?
What will we do
When the old barn’s gone?
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Everybody talks
watch mouths
look into eyes
feel wind lift
hear birds sing
when world’s too loud
it’s alright
close up inside
stay still
quiet
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My pencil
strikes pages
life blinding cures
strike edges
forcing indelicate lines
into windows
where pure light
seldom shines.
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Pain
holds steadfast
anchored to World
like a fungus—
Is it reproducing
do you think—
or just hovering
closer
to our mega view?

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Who invited
a Presence
what content
lies inside
when did
it arrive
where in space
can it reside
why here
now
leaving when
How?
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Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.