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PoemApril 11, 20261 min read

Thoughts of a Rusted Can (In the Forest)

A rusted can wakes in the forest, forgetful and eroding, until its private confusion turns into a meditation on time.

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1 minute

Mode

Object poem

Thread

Decay and memory

Ugh Grumble, Grumble

How did I get here? My long, deep slumber prevents me from remembering but my rusty skin tells me I've been here for a while.

How do I retrace my steps? Is it up or down, left or right, where I came from?

I've just now started noticing the chips in my body. I wonder if an animal chewed it off from me.

What's an animal? How do I remember that?

I guess I know enough from my time in this earth.

Time? Is time an animal? I'm just being slowly devoured by time.

Aren't we all?

Last note

Poems do not have to explain everything. Sometimes the resonance is the meaning.

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