ForkWordPoems by Inchiki |
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days, days, days, days, days, days, daze the past seems dead, the future an old promise I cross my legs and eat a plate of baked vegetables then drink some tea that tastes like lawn clippings I used to mow the lawn in a haze of summer smells and itchy midges, until twilight came and cooled the hills and silenced the barking dog, the bouncing ball, the laughing child filled with shadow the creaking home of the night crickets from Schrijftblok, 1998 |
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