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Monica Winter

Updated: Sun, 5 Jun 2016 08:12 pm


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Been here before. It's been a good while, but I'm back now with a little bit more life experience under my belt; no life threatening wounds. Still reading and writing.


Bemusement feels like a tangle of threads, yarns with irregular shapes streaming from the stallion of passing time: cool at first then warm in my hand, smelling of wood-smoke, grass, leaf-mould and fox-shit, rain on dusty ground, skin-salt, fear, wild seas, babies' heads and sweat; it whispers in tongues, doubting and judging, white noise on an old TV set; it sounds like a head-ache, like freedom wild and scary, intriguing; it's salty like sweat, zingy metal on my tongue, lemon sorbet whizz, smooth and natural like water, bitter and stinging like salt and vinegar on a hot chip; a blur through half-closed eyes, a fleeting almost-scene shadows that will haunt

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