Empty Holes.


Empty Holes. 


Somewhere deep in the

multi-layered folds of my soul,

buried under the daily

cacophony of mundane and trite,

lies a gathering of words

that squat like jewels unpolished,

opulent opals of thought

not yet uttered in ink form,

the lost arc and loops of

 brilliance begging release,

I dig daily and near miss

the valued trove time after time,

over 4,000 shovelfuls of bets

from the alpha side of my brain,

and still no timeless glory

to leave behind me before,

it becomes a buried treasure

mouldering in the stench of my corpse,

again I lift my fingers and

probe the wrinkles of my cortex.

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