Once I thought I saw you come together burning incense as if the war (some call it the game) that claims us daily was a series of scattered fires cleansing the land.                               A quiddity of mind reduces as it burns. The juices and sugars become sweet to the touch, a heaven below surfaces of sight. The scattered forces teach us, a knowing cleanses the wind. “Space is dark, it is so endless.” And when we grasp its end we are bound by thought you and I and our best friend to throw our pride at the sun and watch its quivering pink ascent.

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