david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

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it is early in the morning

and I stare at my coffee

but I can’t see the future.

if I could, I’d want to change it,

but that’s not part of the bargain.

the past is either set in concrete,

or a mirror full of strobe lights–

the coffee won’t explain that either.

everything I do

sets something    in motion

I get dizzy.

 

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