Minas

Truth is filling up my spaces-change like patches in old and moldy clothes.

It can only be a good thing. I think this when thunder passes across Minas-thunder and more thunder and it sounds like war.

What is Minas to me? It's this green-the green my hips and fingernails and knees hold inside them-which I think I will never get rid of. This green that is in so many places all over the world.

Minas -it's a beautiful word and my lover and music and all this green. It's Iracambi and Brasil and thunder like war.

Minas..

Minas...

Minas....

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