An Ode to Emptied Pockets

I pulled the lint from my pockets
and called you mine.
In the chance of there being nothing left,
I appoint you as heir to this misery.
Seeing that you had left the soil
to garden the city streets,
I will honor you
with floods of rain.
The river will raise your sunken grave,
and your urn will float
into the dreams of starving children.

©2013 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved

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About inpotentia

Hold Fast.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to An Ode to Emptied Pockets

  1. Kyle says:

    Love this one!

    Like

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