Tuesday, November 08, 2005


Uneven ... the glow
a glow ... supposed
a tool shown to mystery guests
and traveling pests.
Unraveled in harvested moons
your tunes
wrestled tunes
yet oh ... my captured wounds.
I wrap them around cellophane hearts
a tour ... be proud
somehow lost in a crowd
glasses high
toast to the note-cards
that sort out my mind against hypocrisies
I sort out my mind ... in the end

There are days of unregistered rhymes
and they seem to be advancing upon undying darkness.

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