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This World

My work is loving the world.

For its sharp ugliness.

For its retched pain

wreaked on those who deserve it the least.

I love this world because I am this world.

I am a life destined to breath my last breath

on this world.

As the plants in my garden,

I am this world.

Connected to other life on the planet.

I gather my flowers and crush leaves into smoking jars.

I lay my crystal to breathe under mother moon at night.

I set fire to my altar,

a tribute of the lives before me.

A reminder that, I too, have a life to live,

a life worth living,

in this cold, cold, West.

I keep myself alive to love

in this world.

I keep myself alive, because there is a life to keep

in this world.

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