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Weeds - March 24, 2026

how cautious and calculated I move, guided by the cloudy windows of my eyes, pulled by a suitcase of flesh with two long legs my wrinkles breed like rabbits while the population of my hair declines, like the upstate New York town I was born in my body and mind stumble more than they ever have and as an expert lifelong gardener, I now tolerate weeds who knows, maybe age and acceptance are becoming best friends

King of Something - March 23, 2026

some rule a country some rule a kitchen a goatherder lords over his goats a butterfly has province in the air a farmer his fields one wolf reigns over the pack singers have dominion over notes a comedian wears a crown of jokes a mother is queen to careless princes and dreaming princesses and a father decrees at the end of his work day - I’m home think about it, if each of us is unique it seems inevitable that we’ll gain authority over at least one thing in our lives, be

The Iron - March 22, 2026

tourists in white skin and no hats say Hi as I finish my walk, the sun, already a hot iron on my arms as it scales the sky through a window heat is invisible among reds, greens and blues, splashed above the sand how far will they walk before they pick up the pace or tighten the circle to the weekend rental when will they lower heads and urge their steps forward, step on the welcome mat, plunge into the dark chill air to understand the desert is to know when to linge

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