Friday, May 18, 2012


 From my poem:

 I carried this
 Piece of paper
 In my pocket
 For a long time
 Nothing had been
 Written on it
 It was dusty
 Dirty and worn
 I couldn’t tell
 Why I hadn’t
 Thrown it away
 Why I had not
 Supplanted it
 With a new and
 Better model
 I didn’t know
 Why I kept it
 There by my heart
 Until I grabbed
 My well used pen
 And magick words
 Appeared in fire
 Before my eyes

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