2 histories

history of the narrator

two dollars a minute to breathe:
dollars you can take out of the verbs where
a team’s erecting a new barrier to let me escape;
minute droplets of ink and honey have started
to form on your time together—but just remember, this is your time off !
breathe now,  and the vocalizations ignite

history of the xmas tale teller

pinned in by eyes but trying to see:
in the gloaming,  no wait you don’t gloam anymore, do you?
by the waters that babble right off into
eyes crying with dry time & mica glint semi-lights, --
but still feeling the snow flakes cut,  inside a core,
trying to agree,    w.  some of the arguments,
to drink a famished illiteracy. . . .
see,  these are seasons where they sell us,  and we buy breath back,

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