| Sometimes in the early morning mist that falls as rain...slowly seeping until heavy with spongy sogginess...there are worlds implied by expectation and wish...that arise before the eyes to take us away from the present pain and and aching nothing...that surrounds and ties our imagination in dismal apathy...even the bedrock flame that glows with iridescent hope becomes an empty offering...sometimes an accident would be better...impulse acts with deliberation... | |
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