Sunday, December 20, 2015


Was never was. Did not live at all.
Never had being. A full negation of
everything : OK, signal my symbol 
for trying these times. All is/is not.
I never tremble at the edge of a knife.
The curlicue of only good fire can grab
my attention now. Twelve miles off from 
the Bear Mountain Bridge, and high above
it all  -  'Road Closed - No Access'  -  we 
sit it out. Having made a campfire, now we
must worry the light, and the smoke? This
close to a Christmas revel, why should we?
And what Rangers are around here now? 
Dark and cold and chilly. Nothing uplifting
about this at all. Walking one rocky path
after another, I've worn out my feet and my
patience. Just let me sit a while, and the hell
with anything else. I'm tired, and weary.
Cold. Like I was never alive.

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