POEM: Until The Banks Overflow

In of
I am
Not alone
There is just us
Like an ever flowing stream
Until the banks overflow
Into unquenchable cache
And from the breast
Of
Sucking
I am left
Nothing more
Than write

This short poem, like many of my , has dueling parallel narratives.  The first and foremost is the awesomeness of .  The overflowing of this awesomeness is the upon which is rooted.  Only when people start hoarding more than they need, banks overflow / Into unquenchable cache, does rear its ugly head.  This utter misreading of leads only to perpetual , within and without.  Whether experiencing awesome and/or witnessing restless , I am often left with only the righting instrument of a .  Write on!

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