Dean Garland
Jul 4 · 1 min read

Community is not a wall.

Not even a ditch, or a trench dug by others.

It goes deeper, finds roots. A river springing up, moving toward the sea.

A constellation at the edge of the coast, an index finger extended to point the way.

We giggle In hallways, where peeling paint and plastic flora cover cracked stone walls

whisper holy obscenity in one another’s earlobes.

In the brazen heat of fire and hate, hope trickles down like fresh water.

trembling but without shame we are finding new continents and oceans within ourselves.

Dean Garland

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Full time vagabond, bit time writer, narcissist & purveyor of more news from Nowhere.