| October 19, 2000 | |
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Individuality
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| Dark feathered zero how you rise and whirr and burn and flare oh flashpoint, cell, oh seared one how you wing then write your molten feet they trace their glyphs along my bruised and startled shoulders This is a poem about being tired and inspired but too tired to finish it and not having the words. Ghosts have no breasts but wishes do. (i mean witches) |