old and gone
still smell sweet
why do i crave
my mothers
cooking
even when I am not
hungry
why are absent friends the best
conversationalists
{walking foward is so difficult
with your neck
craned
behind you}
is it nostalgia
or age
is the future so
terrfyingly bleak
am i so
tied to an image
that never
actually
existed
that is is better
to give in
to ennui
then to pick
up a shovel and read
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