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  • my stories are lying about on the ground
    they fell to earth and turned from green to brown
    decomposing as they lie.

    as a gardener, i want to rake them up
    tidy them up and maybe even compost them.
    going back to a pristine blank page that not even a worm would want to crawl beneath.

    each story started as a bud
    grew and then slowly changed
    direction and ultimately was cast off to the breeze.

    here they lie, with a certain beauty
    a resurrection, a purpose
    words strewn about in an array of tangible and intangible thought.

    i guess i will rake some other time. looks like rain.
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