Who would suspend
The pursuit of
Happiness
For a past time
Prophet
Dying to be lead
Out of mind
Changed to
A field of
Gold
No man
Lands lightly
But less heavy is
Removed
Seeped back into
Things
With space to fill
Neither happy nor sad
But still
This curt rock
Tooled in anxious
Wandering
Shapes the pursuit
Of sustenance
The artifact seeking
Its own
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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