8:24 p.m. - 2011-02-23
desire
i sit and wait for egg drop soup, down the street from the place i used to live; but that building has since burned down, like the place before it almost did; (but that fire just cooked up a stew of poor men.) I wonder now why i never ate here, as much as i could have and wanted; surely the heat of longing was real; and here, now, i've gone well out of my way for the soup, 2 miles for my sinusitis, my bronchitis, (not so much for myself really). Oh, but then i remember: my heart wasn't on fire, then; not at all. and it aches now for a wind to carry it, feed it, or blow it out. and so, here i am, egg drop soup.
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