Rebuild

a quaint snowfall bestows our southern town for a few minutes doesn’t really stick to much disappears off and away so too the open mic poetry passes which I host but between you and me I’ve certainly become my own harshest critic and fill with the kind of doubt that makes one wanna reorganize one’s whole program because it’s not all that new any more or serving any tangible purpose

so some god somewhere help me get back to the good times again if there are any more to be had and I promise to shower a plethora of prayers rebuilt in digital image

we can rebuild him
we can rebuild at whim