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i want to know @ when
it’s impossible to pretend that we could keep all these scrap paper poems scratched on the surface of something so big, some sort of spectacular tragedy told in riddles and rhymes four four and every other line the ink sinks through, never setting the symptoms the same way once when washed we faded like the letters like we knew better but because the factors found themselves so large, i leaked a little and let all [of you] slide slowly [like rain down a window pane] away remembering only that once there was more to say, or be said. Older Entries |
