Let Ride

Stones

*****

We are souls, poured,

then frozen into the cracks

of coffee shops,

Chiseled free through our scribblings,

  thin and cracking confessions.

*

The girl in the tight, window-case dress

speaks above the folk-style band,

into her cell,

I’m at Kristen’s bad party,

while I listen, content in my jeans by the fire.

*

Public radio taught me that

trash, once alienated

from recyclables , collides

in a shared space,

for all things used,

*

despite our discernment.

*

Our theory of decay translates into

a lengthy process, a journey.

After twenty-five years,

plastic still protects guacamole,

 next to legible newspaper that your grandfather recycled,

cigarette burn still distinct.

*

Our  inheritance.

*

Yet water still filters itself through rocks and hills,

it moves and purifies.

*

Do washed-up shells with hollow sound

and scattered shine, gain value

only in your palm,

or upon your toilet tank?

*

From the shoreline where we dabble and yearn,

choose to skip me,

*

in this body of mystery.

Return me to where I belong,

a pebble,

beneath waves

and stars.

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About Faye

I blog for 5 sites.
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