Who said I was a poet, because I write down
snippets – code as it was – where life intersects
this line or that – sometimes parallel but not,
maybe it’s because those lines meet light years
down the way and I’ll never see it. Maybe because
mind connections are the tough to see, like a home-made
god fashioned, placed on a table and left –
see, that’s my god, sitting there -garnished in stone.
Yes it could be a simple door stop, but really it’s a god
I’ve kept in some usual way, next to the tallow candle
burning in gold.

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