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By sweetbrother2

Topics: Poetry Source: AllPoetry Original source

A towering stack of tomes weighs down the table at my space; with my fine-toothed comb I search between the endless pages for specks of light, truth & wisdom for pictures to paint with my ballpoint brush All the jangling words chase each other around my brain then flit, useless, like restless moths out of my left ear into dusty air I get up, walk into the blazing sun of a normal day; I find a riot of wildflowers decorating rusted hulks of cast away cars, oil drums, yawning refrigerators; a pink and headless doll lies at my feet; I imagine the child who loved it Nearby, a barefoot woman festooned with bags & rags and guarding a shopping cart piled high with discarded treasures sing softly to herself or to some murmuring voice within I see a story in her toilworn face; her wordless tune sparks an orchestra in my head drowning out all the clamorous words I sit on a fallen log, pull out my ballpoint brush and begin to paint. Written April 17th, 2002 © on Apr 17 2002 03:26 AM PST   10 • 0

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"A towering stack of tomes..."

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Author:sweetbrother2

Source:AllPoetry

"A towering stack of tomes..." by sweetbrother2

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