an Art of Dying fragment

I don’t remember coming up with these words, these made up words to describe what I saw or felt or chewed or disliked.

“Knister” was my word for the marks that the perhaps a little too tight elastic bands in my socks left on my legs when I (or Mom) took them off. Sort of an indentation, a little circular ravine around the ankle or calf.



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Ulf Wolf

Raised by trolls in northern Sweden, now settled on the California coast a stone’s throw south of the Oregon border. Here I meditate and write.