A little puddle filled with scum.
drying up in the burning sun.
where o where will all the scum go.
probably down to the world below.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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A vent, a summoning, a cry in the wild, a glorious rant laced with daffodils and free falling fashionistas. A moment to run and pretend freedom and to wallow in the mystery without the vanity of reason. This is a whisper in the dark under the covers to a friend giggling.
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