cellar door

pencil. just saying it, i feel more focused. words spoken reverberate out our mouths and ricochet around our head. some like a gong and some like a flower. and i don’t get to say the word much. not much use for pencils or vinyl anymore. not like 20 years ago. so i kneel prostrate to the alphabet idol in the corner and say these words aloud. so i won’t forget. wondering what has already been lost by water and wind. tradition is breadcrumbs strewn through history left by our ancestors who thought there was a way back (home).

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