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A little night digging.
Turning the soil,
in desperation;
her ring,
her dirty hair.
I call this love;
To toil for her.
Shallow, always shallow...
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This description is probably longer than the poem, i guess. anyway, enjoy.
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Where do day's children hide
as night falls?
In the trade winds?
In the streets of life?
Who shadows their fears
as the sun sets,
as that day en..
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Should darkness come
and leave me none the better
I'll sleep the sleep of unrest
and awaken in this stuffy room.
I took a measure of fine hemp
..
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Marty is tough-as-nails circus clown, abou to lose his heart in a not-so-funny way.
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A survivor trys to overcome his having survived.
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Commute.
The w****s on pacific ave
stoop to look in my window:
me at the stoplight,
me driving by,
me getting into my car...
it sickens me.
T..
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Match-Fade Outside my window, on the ledge,
is a matchbook
that has been there
for seven years.
Seven years while I sat here and typed
and sh..
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Clowns, who doesn't see Isome darkness there?
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Poem
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