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Warm oak polished
by Sunday best
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it wasn't my place
to gamble
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I'm on my back in long
whispering
by chills
15 lines, 8 comments,
on Mar 22 5:27 PM 2008
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Able and Keen
Cain and Abel
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I am (I think)
(therefore)
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Farfalle fetched
and egg noodle etched
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Such balm to the soul
are domestic duties
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gentle and fierce
my long legged
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might there yet be time?
a moment for us?
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The turkey of war
flew over the world
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Many people (well, few, actually, really, if I were totally honest) have rushed to this bijou seaside resort to bask in the ample greyness of its pathetic environs. I was drawn south in order to trip delightedly over the dog
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the beckoning reckoning
of oaken broken fingers
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I'd have an afro
if only I could
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The wheat is dying
from boredom and the CAP;
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Secrets should be
joyous things hugged close
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From the conflagration
I save four pages
by chills
20 lines, 6 comments,
on Aug 30 5:36 PM 2007
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Ah, yes, you.
You need stroked
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To reminisce
is to pick
by chills
27 lines, 7 comments,
on Aug 4 5:11 PM 2007
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What is happyish?
Is it a place?
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Hi phriend / high phive / life's phun / iph you let / it be / do I phink (!) / of you? / Oph course. / Phundamentally / pheeling / phine he
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I liked to decorate / the rooms in my home / (my old home) / paying due attention / to the ceiling. / In here, looking / forever upwards, / I curse the painter / no Sistine Chapel this. / Looking at the ceil
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waking to the sun / in your single bed / blue room / cloudless day / seemed an omen. / quiet house / sleeping boys / warm lit garden / tea
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