poetic notes that are entirely non-work-related

i sit on my porch
the early summer breeze
blowing over

my bare shoulders…

reading about [*goddess] isis
and dreamily imagining
as i smoke my

pixie stick cigarette

you must be
deep into
high stakes

right about now.

the burning hot tip of
my cigarette
chases my questions

in circles..

where is the line between

and Truth?


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