Monday, February 14, 2011

we lurk like fleas

We lurk like fleas

upon freshly sheered

sheeps wool.

Praying that the weavers way

will not break us in two with their braid.

I fell, I say,

I fell.

Come well as you may

brave soldier sits upon the stone waiting to be recovered.

They're will be no easy recovery for you

smoke and frozen fingers

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