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David Bristol

As I listen to jazz
I pant to talk about the stock market.
I think jazz will make me clean,
but the market is more refreshing.
In the market
all that I risk is before me
neatly measured, moving
and present, each day asking.
"What now are your hopes?"
Mornings disheveled, I meet them
at the door where they press,
"Hold your water 'till you know
what I've done."
I am lost,
left with black fingers.

Now, I spend the afternoon chasing trusts
with my life in my hands as never before.
The blinds are open and lights are on.
I want to learn to like everything.

 

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