I have a rather mundane tale
to tell just like the rest,
but I feel as if in sifting
through my story I will find all
the elements of glory and disaster


Do you know what it feels like,
burning and chills?


I hear Daddy crying out in the night, Mommy,
but it isn’t with you. Somebody else creeps in–
while you’re gone.


Who says that nothing is immortal?

Death is immortal, outlasting even the best of us.


…glory and disaster, and joy and sorrow,
so that in the end the mundane is made

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