i stand beneath my
live oak
leaves, branches
heavy with warm rain
as i move in and out
trough them, among them
smashing my cigarette;
we've survived another
winter
now together
we bear the
burden
of
satisfying
the unfulfilled
walking up the
concrete
i hear the
centipedes
crushing
popping beneath
my feet
i hate them
on a good day
i pick fifteen
up from
my floor
i disagree as
i crush and
flush them
but the
thought of them
crawling in my
mouth and ears
overrides
the ego behind
my ideals
so this is the
life now
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