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S t a t i c u s

she falls
backboned and heel bare
struck
alive with light

television blare

her blonde perfect head
the angel mouth

there are wildfires of
storms ringing through
a fresh mind

lightning in her arms
tightening her spine
the thunder realms

vibratto

gran mals her gram
says
her ovid pupil
relfecting the worried
smile
of the youthful inflection

..

Editing stage: 

Comments

wisps of air
blow through hardened lungs
whispers of younger days

time rewinds
to fresh
not free

dance upon ignorant air
buoyant immaturity
swaths babes

your poetry is undefinable
I cannot express the quality of genius
thank uou

Good play on the title.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Such a powerful play on words. A different take for sure. I really do enjoy your writing!

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

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