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What i am, what i write upon,
and what i write with are all 
of the same earth.

We take the tree to write upon
the tree. Humbled by leaves and
skies and dolphins and here i am.

Pages with no lines, words without
boundaries, poems beyond thoughts.

There is more to be said and by the
end i hope to articulate it.
I will for i can.  And my mind will stray,
and my purpose will be unclear.

We take.
And all i can give back is myself.
And this is me.
 

(12.13.98)
(upon real paper, with a real pencil)

 
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