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hold on while I gets a pen...
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eye witness
your tears of honest rage
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in the morning
I wake and breathe in your scent
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when I was a young man I was passionate for this new life of mine
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wounded warriors can heal and rise from the ashes
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beautiful heart whom I love without measure
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I didn't write this, my manperson Michael did, and wouldn't post it, but said I could so I am. Here it is...
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the unutterable tongue
of the soul stutters
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sometimes it cuts into me
when I realize
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quicksilver
medicine
by BlancetNoir
22 lines, 5 comments,
on May 10 10:19 PM
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dear old friend of mine from the crumbling pages
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in my dreams last night I lay dying in the street,
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I know how you feel when your head drops into your palms
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almost perfect, wasn't it?
where will you go
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tears can dance
like water in a hot skillet.
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back in the night desert
I crouch with my back to the cliff
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when falling holds no elation
with sweat stung eyes
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in my alms bowl
a spider builds a web.
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1
I saw you laying on the sidewalk
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and other grievances with the universe
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out of breath
when I answered your call
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on the walls of a song a poetess in a cold new england town
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close the mouth to words only kiss me.
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for the most dangerous Rabbi in America
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you're a strong swimmer in my stream of consciousness
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you're a strong swimmer
in my stream of consciousness.
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listen to the voice of skin the lush ink stirs in it's warm home
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they stood and cheered at the old gladiator
as he fell on his knees in the sand
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station platform, he runs full tilt
as the last car pulls away in the distance.
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still rough and under construction
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please don't make me go back there again.
staggering through my own stations of the crossed.
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