Reid@YWP

It is a terrible thing when 

democracy

kindness

peace

is taken away.

I think it must be almost worse when that pain becomes dull a 

Bruise

That won’t go away.

In the early morning I wake. I dress silently and slip out of my sleeping bag. I slowly unzip the tent flap, trying to let my tent mates sleep. The morning air is cold and biting, and a deep fog encases everything around.

Beneath the slow breath of morning soil,
the onion hums and its layered heart asleep,
a pale globe guarding tears untold.
Nearby, garlic dreams in clustered cloves,
its scent a fierce devotion to the earth.

Tiny ceramic bird, frozen in midair. Are you doomed to spend eternity seeking a flower you will never see? Spiderwebs cover your body as you dangle from a wire, staring at a pole of wood, cracks forming with time.

DN24. R6. The metal numbers are still there. Clinging faithfully to the wooden electric post, tacked down with more fervor, probably by someone tired of the defeated, dangling look of them, rather than the city. My gas station cup of Dr.