Towns seem human, and almost that. Vegetative imbroglios happen in conflict for land spot but in people way. You belong to an entrail after all. The dump seemed a smart establishment after too much mindless splay of energy. But how were mountains seduced and torn? Mines were created, people will dig for anything. And it all made nothing but a register cry. Yet here the land and people see to roots. The trees teach roots and the saw says no. The circle exists too, tho, cognizing fungi bigger than your thought. The size of sky when only overhead means a place perhaps of comfort. A collision of kindness sometimes happens. Are you ready for a larger language and doubt? The town begins to mean, back to dawn to mean.
poems, fireflies...