the skin of the car is shedding between here and there, and now i'm here, and the skin is gone, and all i can see is the shine of the car.  these things, the ones that were buried in the rocks and came to life, are still here, rising underneath my fingerprints like there were bones there singing songs, and the one song that i always heard is also still here, cinnamon stones telling the stories of the people who were here, and everything that was true is lit up by the moon, and everything that was not true is lit up by the moon, and it's bright enough to hear, and i'm almost drowned out by the ocean in my ears, relentless moon and ocean in my ears, and i think this place between places, i think i can call this home.


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