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April 20, 2015

I have seen money. Felt it in my hand.

I have wasted it one day and built temples to my fellow man the next with money, with no good reason to do either.

I have watched it slumber in a bank book with my name on it waiting for nothing more than a notion and a signature. All gone. Gone for good, I think but must not say. She hears everything I say. I utter the sounds but I don’t listen to what I’m saying. What is the line? I must remember the line. Strut and fret upon the stage, I think. Sippican Cottage: I Must Not Do It

Posted by gerardvanderleun at April 20, 2015 9:26 AM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.

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Posted by: Lisa at April 20, 2015 9:34 AM

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