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pro re nata
swollen days
brusque with a tear
the dampness
stilled
the ice hungry
for the lick of wind
the tip of midnights
surmise rushing
cold fronts
and slush
pressed fonts
ticket reciept
mandalas
swirling in the
slow swallow
by the grate
gaurdians
dream mistresses
in vague dresses
and delusional
tresses
the stars are sleeping
where is this
notion
pacing
raindrops startle
fingersmeared
cigarette case
on a glass topped
table three minutes
past midnight
Editing stage:
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Comments
Josephus
Mon, 2013-04-15 14:53
Great monologue on insomnia
Great monologue on insomnia during a cold "back side of winter where the hell is spring" night.
You have a very evocative way with words, Esker.
Joe
My mind's writing cheques my body can't cash.
loved
Mon, 2013-04-15 15:35
i think ......this world is a weird place ....we all
think at a different pace
interlaced with paranoi
some insomnia ..
loved