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dear Magic, 2.

Today I kept you buried in my gut. People have the ability to forget, to walk through this life without you burning and demanding, but maybe I am not people, or maybe you are so ordinary that most of us blend you wth our lipstick and wink.

They keep coming to me; babes who call themselves witches, and at the risk of alienating my audience, I am tired of the word. We strike words like matches to claim power, or to point an arrow to something that seems secret, or hidden. There are gift shops everywhere lighting candles for us now.

Or maybe a word is a friendship bracelet. Some recollection of connection forged in the ember glow of a cigarette. Elemental. We knew the girls who stepped outside at parties. Who ran into the trees. We knew the boys who dug their soft toes and hearts into upturned earth. We knew the ones who swayed their hips in silent rooms.

We don't smoke anymore. 1995 is a logo. When we run naked towards the ocean, we are often timid, or alone. So we name it, and knit this web.

Sister. Brother. Sibling. You are not alone on this rock.

Sister. Sibling. Brother.

I will find you in the woods.

holy holy, the ego fails.


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