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Twinkling Parallax

Poems, prose, short fiction, and other rubbish.

Dream #1

Posted by Prester John Sunday, April 12, 2009 at 9:28 PM

Your words are vines that grow across
The open mausoleum door
Your tongue, a snake that slithers, slides
Across the dusty desert floor
Your eyes are filled with smoke and ash
A penance, pain and perhaps more
Your wrath, the storm that breaks upon
My misbegotten ocean shore

 

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