Untitled Refection No.1

I crave to be haunted in the same way a car wreck demands our irrevocable attentions.

My spirit bears the threat of being totalled - of skidding gracefully into some ditch of waning memory.

When my pick up truck fishtailed backwards off of the highway, my first thought was not to pray.

It was an utterance of acceptance, a brand new kind of peace.

I am trying to forgive myself for that.


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