Sunday, September 21, 2008
REPORT
There’s a report right here
that proves the frail elegy
of fireflies.
Fold it up, repent.
Reinvent bird song at dawn.
Let the sky close.
Let the sky close down.
Multitudes pulling
up stubborn roots that proclaim
they hold stuffed visages.
Sell the incision quick,
so that your name be doused
before the next dotted line.
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CALL ME ISHMAEL You know why? Because I said so. If I live long enough to make it to an airport without losing any oxygen, if I use my mo...
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