Her truth came heavily accented
24/7 was translated as “twenty-four by seven”
Yet nothing was found to be lost

All prophets make fashion statements
That invite us to wear their styles
She was a designer

Even those of simple cloth
Paid with their time to sample
Silk swatches of peace and harmony

Some threads unravel in us a tattered
Fray that scissors of scattered flesh fails
To bisect

It was all a show to prove how pining
Was like being pricked with a syringe
That contained air

The pain of embolism is translated
Through the skin of want

How can injections of peace and love be
Produced in laboratories, or anywhere outside of
Our own blood supply?

Twenty four by seven
Is the rational equivalent of a day
And wanting an endless nomadic
Search to reveal
Nothing was lost to be found

The Nomad Wears All Days

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