December in the railroad woods the sun is bright and full of blue sky but warmth is a cold memory.
I root for myself on damp earth and I fill the barrel with water for horses.
I revolve on the damp earth that blushes with green new grass grateful for the plowing of horse hooves and the rich horse turds and the overflowing barrel of water, the hose making the same sound as a horse pissing.
I see therefore I exist among the Eucalyptus woods planted a century gone for the feeding of the iron horses, the steam railroad.
The clouds are hung over from a righteous night of riotous rain.
I tap like rain against my iPhone.
Let this world inside outside.
My electrons howled in the Solstice of Winter, the longest night of the year, dwarfing the queen rat among the discarded couches and the soggy rugs and…
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