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January 3, 2011
All gone yet here assiduously drowned
for finding a quantity fet of wanting illusions
for salve, the rapture of sadness
so gleefully deep one might assume
ecstasy bleeds despairs for dreams
of a convenient death in mystic
watercolors scraped off shadows,
memories that cannot die by
dint of a living soul bereft of the
narcissistic stone, held like a loaded gun
to the seeming enemy called heart...we
split from grace to meet ourselves
on concrete deserts hunting for a mythic
salvation on discarded garbage cans,
spying reasons no sane madness of day for
night could ever hope to find for lack of soul.