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La Petite Mort of Creativity
Let me bleed out a moment’s release,
from this contemptible inner peace.
my tears are too clear of midnight ink,
my thoughts are apathetic and indistinct.
I look for omens, cracks in bedroom mirrors,
for owls, magpies - among nests of unfamiliar
I churlishly spread my coquettish legs
seducing any passing stranger’s death.
To be touched - trembled by fi...
Sunday 8th May 2016 7:10 pm
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