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Wikipedia Poem, No. 296

      down 
at 
the oracle the 
razored 
whispers
  hiss
      step off 
        you 
got sounds 
of snow-station returns flash 
        themself
  new
why is it only why
glides that quiver 
the hall lifting
to  
a full 
roar of 
hurt
he opens hurt
      away
          brined again

new operations
smile
  his sense of leaves 
look there

exterior rooftop 
        morpheus
on a swaying scaffold
        hit it forcing 
seems 
     as
        an 
explosive-tipped 
rule of calm

the priestess cracks
outside him carpenters  
electrically watched wheat
brined
   is every station a phone up
Poetry

Authors Rating Their Own Books Five Stars? How Tacky!

I read with great interest what was essentially a note to all authors who self-rate their books five stars.

That’s just so … just so … *tacky*. 322 more words

Writing

The Season Will End Soon


The season will end soon enough for these beauties as the drought has been rough on the land and my well.

Mom started Chemo yesterday so far so good but I am just trying to keep the faith. 136 more words

My Posts

rest & relaxation

Came down with a head cold a few days ago and have been taking it easy. Spent most of yesterday in bed. Got out of the house this morning for a cup of coffee and drew a little ditty on a pasty wrapper. 31 more words

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