Posts
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The Blackbird
There’s a blackbird outside my window,
but he doesn't sing.
His golden eyes glow like horizons,
pupils like sinking ships.
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The Old Dream
You sit
in the corner of my room,
stretched thin across canvas,
and frozen
in your forgotten poise.
Loves
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Listening to Wind
It is September, yet
I can still hear the beach.
The sea moves and swells;
it tumbles to the shore,
dusts itself off,