Im sitting outside resting against the library wall. There is sporadic green emerging from the earth in front of me. The sun doing its own form of photosynthesis on my soul. In the same view, grounds workers are entangled within the arms of a set of mid sized trees. They ascend and descend from orange ladders. Limbs fall.
As i sit here i cannot help but resonate with those trees; undergoing pruning in order to bloom.
The remains are being loaded into the bed of an industrial truck. For the first time i wonder what happens to my unnecessary limbs. Who is taking the time to help prepare me? Who is picking up my baggage and carrying it away? Will my remains be of use to anyone else in this life? Will the pruners see me bloom?
My pores contemplate releasing sweat. Just as the sensation emerges the wind caresses my body from the west. Salty beads withholding.
Wafts of carcinogens now concentrate the air. Smoke dances as the cigarette burns.
More bodies gather near.
Life as sporadic as emerging green.
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