Something Always Grows In The Yard

I distance myself from the blanket of burning weeds, raking in more fuel, walking the thing by the roadside to burn everything. The wind turns. I dance around the colors of smoke and flame. Stickers fall into my shoe. Wind blows dirt into my ears, eyes. It collects in my nose. I am covered in dirt, smoke. Debris. I am so dirty and need to shower off. In there I can concentrate on you, bleeding down the hot water. There it is safe to think of you.

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