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I sit; a nut, turn in my shell, eyes in backward.   Dig a wee self; forage in the glen of fine, crude cells.   I’m pressed. Ears in the ocean seize… a mutinous song.   Feb 23 2017

Happy You Near

I used to think I knew enough, ‘Lastly’ had a meaning I could feel. Success : I have to find it here myself, the kind seen only from a distance— how we smashed out golden from the shell, a snake from the egg of youth, between home and school, slipped out of the 1st skin […]