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are out there.


buddhism ? # =
poets ? # =


20 Dec 2002 / 1:32 a.m.
.:  waiting

a lot of thinking done today. i spent a long time with the old dog. his eyes are milky. he sleeps under the deck.

i crawl under there with him, and scratch his ears. i look around, counting beer bottletops. the bottletops are spots on the shiny black plastic grow-shield, which has pushed it's way through drainage gravel. there were 73. they were waiting to be taken apart; their plastic coats peeled off, the metal oxidized and carried into distant red hills. the dog watched me, panted, waited.

i told someone once that i wanted a tibetan sky burial: you are cut into bite-sized bits and cast to the wind. she argued with me, and shivered. all that reaching, never touching.

but always touching anyway, really. drawn up out of the same sunlight, the same water. blown into the same hills as old dogs and plastic bits.

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