Return to the Ash Gate

I once lived in the polar outback.

My finds were gold, and fulfilled

I was the king of laxness,  the brain behind living squids & porcupines.

All at once,  a slingshot held me breathless.

The tide was time with salt in the ice.

You can’t pass through a time machine with your clothes on.

It’s necessary to write everything down on little yellow “stickies....”

Then maybe being and breathing will stick
to you, and you won’t fade.

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