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Wednesday, February 29, 2012

notes of a good old soul

as a child i wondered why
i could never do
the true coo
cry of a mourning
dove nor in my thirties mimic
the sound
of a broke down merry
-go-round inside
an mri
yet who else but i could paint
the white noise of these northern lights
whilst the surgeon
beats back a warring cataract inside
my eye