rage, shame, potency.
They circle in a nebula
attaching themselves to the vagaries of our days,
unwitting and unwritten,
waiting to be named.
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A Microcosm of the World
10 hours ago
Sunday, February 17, 2013
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2 comments:
Okay dear poet--you may have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed--
Maybe it was those words that brought him to that point. I found him hanging at the base of a pine tree. I was told he had an altercation with his brother. I never did hear his name.
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