Efforts to understand, improve, or do less harm to the world around me.


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Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Poem

Nations of burden walking upright. The cold of the day ripping me up and making me old. There may be hope in the clearing of some distant forest away from everything where there are no expectations. I am criminal with desire for food and drink both of an evil sort named for
the ugliness as well as luster. I'm brittle and cresting into a new world. Any slower and I'll die of distaste.

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