Having fallen trying to fix
what isn't broken
but what is,
I pound my fists on the high well walls
of monotony.
Dragging bloody knuckles
across this cold keyboard,
I pray
for angels to turn pain
into poetry.
Haiku [untitled]
Winter and the cold snow bring the dark-eyed juncos. My heart, full, watches.
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Today's color: White GISH Starchy shrapnel covers the cutting board-- evidence of a warped mind driven to carve a couch ...
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