why nICHt?
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Poem
April, 2018
451 Degrees of Graphite Mad et Len
The dead of night
I cannot keep myself from
it
my mind, my skin
the scent of paper is
lingering

And the cinder becomes
my own revolution, my overt
crime
And the cinder is
my curiosity in a single
object

What leverage a human
can hold over the past
and
What might a human
holds in a single lit
match

How much they seek
to erase and cremate the
evidence
shows how little they
understand the past and its
merit, values.

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