Down the sleeve of my left arm,
there is a field of horses. They sit on the screen of a discarded out computer. They are a strong and a beautiful animal. Despite what some might say. In my chest is a memory Talking through the long night Until the morning sun and roommates came stumbling in. You've always held the keys to walk in and out of those memories. What could have been is a strong drug. "it might be better for you to come out from under your might-have-beens, into the winds of the world. And while I tell you, I am myself sifting my memories, the way men pan the dirt under a barroom floor for the bits of gold dust that fall between the cracks. It's small mining -- small mining. You're too young a man to be panning memories..."
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October 2019
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