Ho. Hee.


Stories from the Long July - 4some days are cryin' days, I told Charlie with my face in my hands after we found the drowned cat in a bag by the side of the roadStories from the Long July - 4
all his copper fur like the highway sunset and extinguished eyes like the buried gold mines
now wet and sodden and limp and all I could think to say as I roamed back and forth weeping, hiccuping, was well, where'd they get the water, Charlie? where'd t


Mock White WillowShe measures herself in a mirror framed in cedar that once felt ocean-sapphire Orphean warblers veining sky-currents Mock White Willow
but the crushed sandalwood and cinnamon scent of Lebanon has long gone.
Too tall, her plaited hair hides a long neck. Shes all Scandinavian ice-rimed arms and socket joints legs and knees bending and bone moving beneath skin.
Too thin, her bones are more articulate than she is. Her fingers slide beneath her bleached-branch ribs and a concave stomach entreats the curve of a Mute swans neck.
She no longer remembers t
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"The key to imagination is to alter your perception, then one must question it."
dunno what i mean. i'll maybe see you tomorrow. you'll see this too late, i hope.
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sV
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Retarded
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