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Once again I woke to the gale force wind that is my past

It clung to my leg trying to lure me with

It’s wonders

It’s brutality

It’s shame

The sound was like something from Poe

It was visual.

That cold wind turned warm then

The Santa Ana’s

Hot and thick

The smell of the trails

Of stoner friends from high school

Trekking upwards

Discussing Fripp

And the future

While I was painfully present.

My phone rings

And it’s my dragon father

Forgetting he has called

Several times

His Jacob Marley never leaves him now.

The California sky teases us

With rain that will never come

But the smell is enough for now

It’s heated arms holding my history like a Faberge egg.

It’s early to pour a vodka tonic, I know

But somewhere my heroes and Hitchens

Are telling me to relax, I’m on the right track.

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