is there always light
beyond
the hinges
beyond the beaks
of the cowbird
that rests inside
my weary hands?
maybe if you
want a maybe
out of life
or
maybe not
if you know
how to turn
on
the light.
for me the hope
springs
from chance
situations
and the art
of the revolving
door.
something that
hinges on itself
in a circular motion,
something that doesn't know the
definition of “stop”.
Photo by Dustin Whitehead. Words by Joshua Long.
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