Red Rot

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This kitchen

Dancing in the kitchen in the wine-sheen light of evening. How we’re French at night and German in the morning, as the Whitman twin said. Poetry after work. Depression always in the struggle days. This kitchen, this kitchen, I live in this kitchen and it has never felt so small and so simultaneously treasured as the sum of all I have.

8:34 p.m. - 2020-05-12

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