What you need, my travelling friend, is a place to wash your jeans. And I wouldn’t be the least surprised if you were hungry for a plate of greens.

Grant Lee Buffalo

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In between ideas

Flicking through some books

Airing life’s spun laundry

Pegged between these hooks

Gaps between short verses

Rests between long notes

Rhymes inside these margins

Lyrics in the quotes

“A place to wash your jeans”

And space to clear your head

Pictures pressed in linens

Folded on this bed

Postcards home from somewhere

In between the fuss

Each a breeze blown moment

Shared between just us.

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