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WHEN THE BRIDGE BROKE

I was traveling to utopia
when the bridge broke

was traveling to
that Fiekd of Dreams
type place
(sit next to
Nietzsche and
Plato watching the Niners)
but
your pen got lost
you could not complete
the story
some one really fat
(fatter than Plato)
sat down on your paintbrush
split it in two
which put an end to
my hope of
a heavenly picture

and yet
I travel, sometimes road mapped
or star-guided, sometimes
just following my intuition

an eternal wanderer, archetype
of one
released from the real

in search for a
home for
every true human soul