Sometimes, I write poems.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Exhibitionism in nature is just that, natural. Your
observation has no effect, one way or the other.
You might drive in the very opposite direction
this morning -- hating the world and all planets.
Glaring, not saying the words. Feeling them burn
holes in your soul is punishment enough, today.
Imagine that before you were, and after you shall
be, a torrent over a lip of rock tells misty secrets.
c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2010
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