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Sum Datum Rising

May 4, 2019

Mark Scott

The maples in their robust red knock me out. I’ll never be that good.

We don’t have a smoking gun of a smoking gun.

Die down and go to sleep.

I have a carbon cough.

I’m turning into my father.


My father’s turning into me. He turned into me a long time ago. Now he’s rising in me.

He was baked in at birth, his and mine both. Twice baked. I’m his biscuit.

He’s coming up through me. He shrunk, and I can account for every degree of his lost stature, posture, carriage, and weight. He wore on me and I now wear him. He can see it in me when I visit him. I’m eating him.

He’s eating less and less. I’m eating somewhat more and more. A little more and more. I’m also shrinking, so something’s wrong here. The conservation laws are not being adhered to strictly.

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