any sequence of contours and lines
messed up or stored
dried solid between my muddy hand print
and woody snags
I want to believe
the river in winter
is as it was last June
when my brother baptized me
in the depths of the Missouri's murk
the disadvantages of the past spinning
nearly disappearing with pools of filth
from my beard
I am evil with age
growing this fervor
learning to love things more
or at any extant possible
and vanish ego in this
polluted river
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