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Portrait of a Young Man as The Artist
I gave myself the riddle today. It wasn't until I flipped it over, reversed the view I had, that it made sense.

"Kudos" He said.
It was like a minute explosion. It didn't lay straight, when he word situated itself upon my shelf, emblazoned red and churning spirits.
"Kudos" it remarked and fell silently dead.

His leaves were scented with rose oil, jasmine, livid with an eternity of flying without landing. Today was the first day, tinted harshly with bitters, they hit their mark. His pleasure
marked with the other's distress
faded with unexpected error.

Pages were turned passively by me.
Reminders came
that the Angles were waiting
to anoint themselves upon my shelf and make me feel more at home
than home. I pay with winter's detrius, as they all command.

Enlarging the steps of othersCollapse )

Current Mood: amused amused
Current Music: Dulcet notes of a weed-whacker

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