it’s tradition to start the new volume
within minutes of finishing the last
one thought at a time
poured out onto the table
even if it is portable
even if it is on my lap
out in the cold of a cloudless night
it’s tradition to write out in the cold
or down in that hole
with no one to witness
the power words have
in this life to this writer
breathing this smoke
hoping it isn’t doing too much damage
knowing it can’t be good
somehow it helps unravel this mind
traditionally…
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