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Little Bits of Prose, Poetry and Essays.
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Crackle, oh deep flames, roaring
on this cold morning, send flecks of wood about freely shattered
break under wedge and the maul
bring it to me, strike
the match, oh let it burn hot
and bright this morning
bring it fuel, bring us a daily
meal, let it scorch and fry, let it warm our bellies and old bones
until we are satisfied
the smoke rings up through the eldest trees
quietly, gently, a soft choking reminder of the destruction
that we enact, so we may persist.