Out Of All The Endless Days
M
Max Reif
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I'd live my life in shorthand,
the short hand of a poem,
a zen brush painting.
Ah, the endless repetitions,
the rising, getting dressed,
going to the same workplace,
the weekends, blah blah,
and now and then a flash of something new,
a moment that leaves the procession,
flies up to the hills,
something worth writing about,
something that seems
worth God's time
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