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For B.R. Written after his suicide.
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Blank…
is this page, this canvas,
words pirouetting like ballerinas
inside of my mind, but fading,
fading, fading
before they reach my pe..
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Barely audible…
the sleepy sound of this city’s streets,
the rain in august, and
the quiet droning of tomorrow’s dawn,
when it&..
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Starlight breathed in hushed whispers,
seraphic scrawling across a star-laden sky,
tempting torrents of possibilities burned
like candle light behi..
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I like to take walks...
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Gazing out across the water,
still and smooth with a sheen like glass,
tangibly translucent and yet
reflective enough to contain a second sky,
..
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Parting clouds hasten
the charcoal embrace of night--
Celestial dreams.
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Escaped pages soar
across a rain-slicked parkway--
Magnum opus lost.
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An observation of Winter's end
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The pit of my stomach aches for you,
but I’m not sure about the rest of me.
Our midnight rendezvous are getting tedious
I always seem to be l..
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