To think is uncomfortable,
like a poodle, pissing
Quotidian and extraordinary
My shadow on a passing train
Shapes are clouds, in gravel on the road, cottage cheese ceilings, cowlicks
Numbers are boxcars like cracks in the sidewalk
Colors are red earth and daytime moons
I decide my destinies, not by odd or even petals on a flower
but by how long I can balance on this or that foot
When your resting place is a home,
home is a place of rest
…I think
by Cristina Paul
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