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Fresno, CA
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About Me

I was born in obscurity
Outside a small country town’s limits
In a plank shack
I kept a few memories
That come into my head
That i still carry around
That i visit now and then

The dust and the cracks
Filled everything
Even the poor tamarisk trees
Including spiders’ webs
and smells of mustiness and dread

I recall and i wonder now
But just bits and pieces here and there
None of them really made sense
I was just there
there in a fog of consciousness
Just there

I have quite a few more more memories of then
I loved the smell of crayons mixed with modeling clay
Along with drawing paper
The cream brown kind
With its distinct rustic scent
Craving to be used for drawing upon

Ruled white paper stayed in the teacher’s vault
Kept for special purposes
For each one of our own personal use
A plastic cylindrical Lindy brand pen
With a tiny white seal
A ball on its nose
Stamped on its side
Its mark, a seal chrome pocket clip
For writing in cursive writing
Exuding its cargo of precious blue ink
That smelled like rare, exotic tincture
As manuscript flowed from its wonderful tip

These blends of things
Inspired my thoughts
And stayed with me to the reading of books
Pages thereof glossy and thick
Pastel faces of kids and their pets
50’s innocence, “of run Spot run!”
Bound with rough texture of cloth
Stretched and dyed with edges thick

i grew up along with these
To now make a wave of nostalgia deep
Remembering how i Walked
down the library at lunch
While the rest played at recess
I buried in books
Forgetting the dust and the cracks
And squalor of my childhood squalor and shack
As i think back
And smelled deeply the dream
The intoxicating waft
of pens papers and books

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