The boy never stopped playing
with his toolbox.
Chiselling the air,
hammering dogmas
(when he can)
sanding his rough corners,
transponding angles
to see through your eyes.
Assembling bubbles
into a palace of cards
that never got delivered.
Each minute of a blank night,
a quarried block
for the Roman bridge
I never stop building.
If only I knew
it was leading to the bank
I actually aim for...
Only a way to find out.
Doing.
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