Sitting half standing proud and living some dead

atop the shelf melting into a laminate top dresser

the accolades of an age

once known and now thrown

over the shoulder



Pillar of Salt



the next



this one

isn’t good enough

unless it’s painted


and covered in



ball of clay

rolled in my hand

crushed and scattered

on the

vacant lot (ash above Sower’s sown seed)


I gave that trophy to Thomas

considering it of no significance

having no idea

what I really wanted

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