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keskiviikko 17. helmikuuta 2016

Saga


He was stiff as a ramrod,
when he heard me to write.
I was in front of him
as stiff modeling clay,
I do not bow to any
the new form without
violence. my inside
interfere seasons
to each other like lost
octopus tentacles.
Memories of threads weave
manila rope along which
flee to knock at
utopia door. throb
the knuckles of shedding your blood unless
one puts in.
The dragon awaits
there anxiously
me. We do not need
knights to subdue the free
the joint flight, wonder of the above.


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