I reside in the ashes of a burned down ego which once stood pridefully before the simpler modesties of the world…I dwell in a charcoal shell…peeking out…careful not to crumble the fragile exterior or to collapse with the next hearty gust of wind…falling into its influence and leaning into its quiet strength are played out in a field of imaginary realities unknown to us creatures of carbon…carbon ash and charcoal coils…I sleep in the burned down trunk of an old and waning city…dreaming of pretty and pitiful things…some try curtailling the grief of life on the wings of planes or by zoning in zenned-out reflections on the front porch swing…I think of life as determined by the rings of the trunk of any good and honest tree…circles and circles and circles…


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