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Nestled 7200 steps high in the southwest corner of Yosemite National Park, you find the groven gem of Grouse Lake. The trail shoulders beauty; talltower emerald trees and glimpses of gorgeous granite-gray craigs guide the way. From the end of the path the lake itself seems a navy-night blue, but sunlight strikes the water, the surface sparkling golden hues. Such besotting sight makes it well worth taking the strenuous hike.   

In a patch off the path encircled by oaks, you pitch your tent, hear nothing of the whispers, the warning leaves, lost to the dreamy birdsong. While gathering wood you find small footprints around the underbrush and chuckle. You imagine brazen explorers just before you, hastening towards the lapping of the lake. But, maybe there are no other signs of another, family nor traveler. The shoe steps fade out at the creeping edge of water.

Night shies from campfire light, found flickering on fervent face. Fire exhales, crackles in the quiet darkness. Belly warm and full, you are fell to find safety in the gentle shuddering shelter of light.  

And yet, you cannot seem to slip off for sleep. You might simply stare up at the silver stars through the tiny tent opening, letting the mountain gauze brush softly across your skin. You might find yourself smiling as you breathe it all in.   

Then, you hear it, ah--  

--A wail, faint on wind's breath. Definite.  

Listen close. Your chest frozen for an instant, an hour, mere seconds, you pray you do not hear it again.  

You are unanswered and you hear it again, again, louder this time, the same cry. A young-- so young--cry...

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--you go out how you came in, with your tethers looped around. the door opens and the severity of the look and pause behind it strikes you makes you wonder if your cheeks are chins...

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in the jelly light forest your

arms around my middle keep

part of me here, i feel how

your nerves and your chest

beat aqua green marine life.


i want to stay wrapped in

the hopeful...

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an itch beneath my left shoulder 

close to the spine where i can't dig 

into the muscle drives me fucking 

crazy, it's a shock more than an itch 

but the best i can scratch is skin...

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i don't really know who these poems are for so i don't know if i should keep doing them

or if i'm seriously trying to put out a book, it's stupid to ask for money if i think my...

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it's not a brooding stare

it's a squint, and you look

pained with gastrointestinal



the potentially nice things

about you don't make up

for the crumpled rucked up

shape you...

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weird, the convictions you seem

to need, the system protects their

murders instead of the species

extinction, ocean dead

and oiled for the lake of fire

ozone opens like how i'm

picking a...

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is there a day we can get through

wherein i don't disappoint you

i don't actually want always

to be right or things to go smooth

but it is only okay if i am doing

things to improve?


each step back is three

like-minded in the quiet

types, where is my tv

sitcom overture to let

me know the shitty

parts are done with?


woke behind but not

in the past. the night

i need,...

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