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When I think of what I write I know it’s an epitaph
and the dirt that I’ve written grows but a weed.
Dandelion stew is what’s for you and then I’ll push up daisies.
My life was filled with weed killer and that’s all of who I was.
I see the soles of everyone above me and know the souls of those
who never knew who I was.
I know not why they’re here stepping on my world, but longing for that second serving
that feeds the eternal can of coffee.
Daniel William Concharty is a poet who resides in Los Angeles, CA and writes for Painted Brain News