American Chestnut The American chestnut is long gone, that doesn’t stop me from hoping in its thunderous limbs. I’m compassion; I’m not compassion. It’s all clinging to thinkings, like: how I think someone how I think I should be. This is the me that pisses; this is the me that reads Buddhist psychology; this is …

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MOnsteR How is it I was terrified as a child and no one took notice? Most likely it was because those in charge of noticing were the monsters under the bed. They were the conundrum. Without them I would die, with them I may die. A child stuck in mid-air, weightless, unattached, discombobulated. What to …

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Crumb I have a hard time telling differences. Like the difference between a crumb or a loaf. A feast or morsel.  I’ve fallen for the same trick since birth. A sleight of hand and a hopeful imagination itching to pull a loaf out of a crumb? You see, what’s obvious to you isn’t to me. …

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