In my spare time
which i find myself with today
i paint collapsed houses
and ferngully trees
i wash my hair
and make sure i eat right
i learn to speak french
i clean my floor
and fold my clothes
i smell the air
and it smells like a campground
like fire and trees
and like oatmeal and apples
it smells heavy
and pushes on my shoulders
it smells like a nightclub
and i can feel old sounds
collapsing like my house
and empty like my tree
it smells like oil paint.
it smells like all of those things stirred up
and dancing together
"damn be this wind
its still movin on in
to the bones and the bed of my soul."
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