Sunday, August 4, 2013


I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I wanted to.

Or I thought I did.

Trod on, fumigated, rolled into a dustpan and dumped out the door, I crawled into my cocoon--
slightly mashed, dented and crippled.

Two years pass...

I emerge.




None of the above?

Still alive.  Still moving. 

With a place of my own.

And the dream engine I had thought too old and tired to churn out anything shiny or even a little hopeful

Coughs out the tiniest vapor;

it sparkles like a diamond chip in the sunlight.

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