By John Ogden
We drink the black blood of the quickening tree.
With the quickening, the mind lifts
The teeth are stained
As the soul is stained
With early-gathered knowledge.
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John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.
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