Mushroom Hi

I give up.
I know nothing.
I am permanently fixed upon the precipice, continually teetering on the edges of disaster.

I thought I was beyond needing to deal with the pain of lost dreams; weathered feathers falling. Ashes of burnt-out dreams. It is not the dreams that create pain, bringing it back to feeling — ripples and wavelets washing against the heart’s cage. Protecting and imprisoning all at once. It is memories.

So, tonight.. as I write.. I am grateful for the gift, a bag full of Mill Valley gold — left by a brother for no reason at all. Just that we’re brothers.

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