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January 15, 2001

On the verge

Shyness hard as down in baffled quilts around my neck and head. Unwind, remove.

A toxic midden lives in empty Eden, leached clean by centuries of snow.

Midnight checkers, plastic ticks on cardboard, jump, jump, jump, jump, king me.

Hope is that thick bracelet that strains my bird-boned wrist. I take it off.

Sunday's hour of tears rains bloom fantastic in the verdance of my mind.

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