COYOTE BLOOD
poetry, art, mistakes, music, love, visions and everything...
When Do We Stop Counting?
the anniversary of my mother's birth
was October 13th; she would've been 69.
we forget the dead quickly,
therefore
zipping through years
of prosecuting development.
a Camus quote makes me think of her,
how searching for happiness
is not happy.
I miss knowing
when.
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