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The thought is not to fall away from the task at hand. But it’s a difficult ask. To concentrate in this fog of a foreign woodland.  

Ever anxious for a creature we could appreciate. Otherwise not intending to, we stray. Not making heads or tails of any of it.

So we stagger about, arms outstretched, still running face first into a tree. Or rock. Or ledge.

Damn I hurt my pride but my legs work fine.

So we move along and think. Reaching out to each other as teachers to facilitate the news. To the youth. Corrupt them, you know. With knowledge they can understand.

Antonio A. Gloria (04.02.2015)

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