I miss the smell of fresh cut
sawdust in the morning,
strong scent of capitalist growth
profit placebo easing a nightmarish existence.
Also miss you in every memory I possess
from the waking light to the end of night,
dust in pass winds washed down solidify streams.
It will never be the same insane,
even anger lacks truth nowadays
as is laughter shadowed by false smiles.
in a dismal pretence without
fresh cut sawdust in the wind.
Wish eyes would close and open
to a new yesterday, there we would
laugh picking our new babies names,
celebrate another birthday with
no holds bar, broke by
the end of the day.
Thought my infallible sight
even on re-printed positivity
needs yesterdays to live again,
anything less would be a lie to me.
If ever you read this know I am dead
from the second that you left,
dead and buried is my heart
I shall never love again,
even cover with the sawdust
of a capitalist yesterday.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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