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raised from the backa few degrees in black
altering the shape that stands
fashionably
framing the base
pin up: compulsive crime
delicatley cutting in step
knowing every turning curve
hanging in the balance
in shop
uncaptured longing
accustom to meaning of form
opened
discovered emptiness
refilled weakness
i'm coming
i'm coming
i'm coming
i'm coming
i'm coming
there's no one...there.
Poetry by Aaron Jon Wells
Read 560 times
Written on 2005-09-27 at 14:49
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