TRADITION | Poetry by Dustin Pickering

cold and empty
steel and faultless

we merge the wreck of history
with soft eyes
who gaze gently 
on beauty

promising immaculate score
the hour of dying in the mind

inspiration culled from forces
of proverb

making from shiftless poesy
some decadence 
of vision

eyes harvesting the light
like open treasures

–if you aren’t rich,
you deserve to die—

but what if i define wealth
in my own terms?

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