Probably an odd post for one’s birthday – but given the little spazz attack I had over being that much closer to 40 without having any real writing accomplishments yet, I think it’s fitting.

Happy birthday to me.

Is this all I am?
A vestibule for words,
scribbled pages,
a borrowed name,
and eyes that remind
me of my legacy.
What is left
for the cosmos to
try and lay claim to?
Ancestors from the stars
and the rich stench
of the past that bleeds
sadness and joy —
like fallen bison, powerful
and proud and willing
to be the sacrifice.
Let me be the ravine
in the desert
that disappears
into the deep and hides
unknown treasures
in the darkness.



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