run while you can

Less faithless.

Maybe my ‘person’ may be boiled down to a couple components.

And these represent me; they are me, at least as I see.

Their names are ‘the will’ and ‘the wilderness.’

And there is no one way.

Some say there is tradition.

Yes, this much I know to be true.

But tradition, specifically in severity,

[either being upheld or abandoned absolutely]

is accompanied with these impossible questions:

What within compels me to reproduce the past in the present?

And, the less realistic: how long will it take for the past to disappear?

Aftermath; Eagle River, WI. Summer 2007.

There He walked- blankets of heat and dust

as godless as the day He was born

scavengers ahead, behind

only insects surrounding

biting, stinging

death

new life

the trudge

barren feet-

the empty words.

We weren’t fruitless.

Not originally, not ever.

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