Alive and well in this fine bone-sunk field, drying in its sun and listening. But what of it? When did I last dig my nose deep down underneath the gray carpet of the shoe’s sole, and touch those brown filthy roots? To really look at life in decoration! Roots grow into the car seat, into its dark tissue, but I have recently felt the need to pull up and go. To touch a memory, to see the wonderful things on the doorstep that we always wash away from in between our toes. Where to begin?

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