A poem written each day upon waking. It's mostly unedited. I think that's the point. Promise not to laugh, or let me give up, and please, wish me luck.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
1/16/11
she does yoga in the clouds -
she never rushes death, we all get there someday
anyhow
you'll be - condensing in the sky
then falling - hapless hopeless breathless
brace yourself and don't ask why
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