Wednesday, May 02, 2012

....of the world...

i'm not worried
about it wither
wane wand threshold
tune trimmed hellhole

the dirty doored studio

nor should you worry
about the weaver
whether or not
the weather changes
to morrow to day to never

the flawed floored floor plan

inside jokes with outside
jackets june bug joints
lit with wick windless
winding strand standing
stalled on the side
of the imploded ediface

the fresh desktop stop

don't be furious
with it wither it like flowers
and skin over bones
brandy dashed stones and rocks
falling over clefts and cliffs

the tall tall edge of the world

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