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| patina |
it's the grooves that hold the patina
when i cry my eyes get greener
layer
upon
layer
someone told me
or, sold me
on theory alone
that I don't know what love is
it's the wound that seeks its medicine
that stage of "in-my-head-again"
peeling
off
revealing
patterned inconsistancy,
that ever-itching mystery
who-what-where-why and when again
maybe in those hollows, where ancient green collects
i'll shovel 'till i find where we might intersect
digging
dually
digging
love, being a verb.
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Posted by paperlily on 2009-06-25 03:20:54 | Rating: | Views: 82
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