Thursday, March 24, 2016


I have traveled afar. I haven't traveled at all.
My beakers are filled with a chemistry bad,
liquids bound for hell. The bread I place in
my oven is smoldering before it's baked, the
rise in the dough is as dense as bad air.
This is the context I live in. 
It is a long walk through a dense woods,
and then I come out the other end : many 
tell stories, and so many, so many, I have 
to hear. I look to see. There is nothing here.
This is the context I live in.
Miracle salves, things are rubbed on my
face, gentle strokes and brushless shaves.
I wince at the smell, but tolerate it all. My
danger is passed, and I may live forever.
This is the context I live with.

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