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Bad Poetry

There is something growing inside me and I don’t know what it is yet.

It feels like gummy creosote and spiny cactus leaves, thick green crunchy aloe ooze

It feels like making a right because that canyon road looks interesting (even though my map says to go straight)

It feels like stubborn succulents persisting in cracked and crumbling earth

I don’t dare to hope that it’s a sunrise.

Got the pic here.