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And still I write

4/4/2015

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and still I write

bare boned, bleached out
my words, like buckets
descending
into my well
pouring water at the mouths of rivers
until
the vessel is spent

and still I write

scooping
unrelenting
digging
my words tunneling through my body
hauling stone weighted emotions
to my surfaces
Honesty cracking me open

and still I write

raw and unending
my words, like cicadas
released from the sky
descending into my fields
drowning my being
in a cacophony
eaten desolate

and still I write




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    another place my ocean overflows this bathtub we call life. xo


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