Scavenged for fuel
Tiny tracks to mud roads
That wind down
To engulf the village
Into kerosene lamp dark
That burts open into
A rod red morning.
Starry nights
Time zones away from
Big city lights
That are a poor substitute.
Hyperlinks that replace thoughts
Stares that unblinkingly avoid
The passersby
The person next door
And the coffee table mate
Sitting across the table.
When much is enough
And much is too much
Close your eyes and take a deep breath
Of centering.
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