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Leftover Words

Hullabaloo and Valencia
privacy and pirate
ammunition, Andromeda
gabardine Barbados cinnamon sill
Leftover words, abandoned
on their slips of paper
hoping to be chosen next
even for a small poem or advertisement
If not a libretto, a ransom note,
a thick winter novel, anything really
anything except this endless
waiting on paper– to grow, to be a tiny
bit of something larger to be
part of a moving whole If not
a love letter or breaking news
at least a grocery list at least a reason
to mingle in a group of their fellows
In the end, that’s all every word wants.

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