Dedicated to snatches of song that can sum up your state of mind at that moment.
To those song-
writers and poets who string words together that anyone can own.
To my own pen, that can create pieces of song, though rare...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Pardon
A piece of burned meat wears my clothes, speaks in my voice, dispatches obligations haltingly, or not at all. It is tired of trying to be stouthearted, tired beyond measure.
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