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Tired-Hands

Thomas
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When 'they' give just bits and pieces the listener is left to complete the image. Creativity is good or every story would be just 'I bought a loaf of bread yesterday then eat it with my wife'. Ordinary minds think they ate plain bread together. Creative minds have questions such as, 'Did he have wife sandwiches', 'was the speaker male or female', 'what is it the bread represents', but it was a tragic romance and he was alone.
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Dental Floss

2 min read
It was an average day just after breakfast. Azenete and I had pancakes so then I brushed my teeth and was flossing them when my wife called to make sure I had taken my pill and apprise me of the current condition of her day. She has the flu. I say the appropriate things and she sounds happy. The conversation got a little mushy, but not much then ended with us batting 'I love you' back and forth.

Mornings Azenete and I walk to the beach then up to the river on the north side of town then down to the river on the south side of town. Azenete has a cough this morning. I pat her on the head, she smiles. We get back to the house by 07:00 and it is hot. I shower; Azenete goes into the backyard and lays in the sun. It is hard to understand how a black lab can enjoy the sun so much.

A couple of hours later, Azenete comes into my art room and coughs at me. I tell her to go away, but she gives me the, "I am the world's most mistreated dog" look. I pat her on the head. She coughs. I notice a piece of green on one of her teeth. Reaching into her mouth I pull out the piece of dental floss I was using when Tina called. Putting the dental floss in the trash I start drawing again. Azenete takes the dental floss. I chase her down and get the dental floss back then put it in a trash bag on top of the wardrobe where I store some of my stuff. Azenete has been looking at that bag for several hours on writing this.
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Everything was easy
I didn't appreciate it
when I needed to take a piss
walking to the bathroom
took no effort, no thought.
Now its over there, in a
distant land, a place
where I need a plan.
A distance of pain
that is fraught with
peril or new injury, but I
make the journey
then return, it was
nothing, compared to
Doors on windy days.

from a long time ago
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Sometime swooping with a splash of color
  then a crackle and bang some call noise.
A crumpled paper laying in the street,
  which was trod on by a thousand feet.
One line or a series that drives
  its creator crazy in the middle of the night
when the next line is never the right line.
  A child we create from feelings then wonder
what others think. Mortal wounds our hearts
  take when those others call this child ugly.
Art is the manifestation of our emotions,
  which we feel with or without their approval.
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Empty

1 min read
Soulless bodies filled with glass shards
        and leaky hearts, walk bold to piss in everyone's cup
on wax feet without a direction, lost
with rancorous lust to take down precious spirits.
Lost from path, direction the misbegotten believe
wretchedness, pain, suffering make great artists
to justify their wretched thoughts
that bring out their vile actions in hope
vainglorious self-righteousness
spills like acid on from tin lips
that speak to lead fingers
while playing stringless violins.
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Featured

Devious Journal Entry by Tired-Hands, journal

Dental Floss by Tired-Hands, journal

Doors On Windy Days by Tired-Hands, journal

Child of Emotion by Tired-Hands, journal

Empty by Tired-Hands, journal