My words are what I leave for when I am gone, I may have not awoken this time around, but my words will stay, stained upon your sleeve, as you breath me in and I tickle your nose, sneezing me out blessing me against the page, a residuum of vocation, a bodhisattva expressed in the verb stuck in the noun, I hope that you will look down again, between the lines and the see the discoloration, to unlock the door of the puzzle of my words, to uncover what I could not with my own failed logic and reason. That is all that I could hope or wish that my words could ever afford.

 – Josh Fleming


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