Wednesday, March 06, 2013

pretty hues ask after all if drugs are the thing

few have knelled and known oh the yellow stir
what and even more
when after all after all
and still after
and sometimes the belief
faraway the furthest the farthest of us
slits itself blooded oh bloodward
how sad and dynamo; how like
a tree once rid
of
well
half-ached all over
yr lost/found mind wasn't mine
all it found to find
in it
at dusk-bells to say lakes

.

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