Though I know the rustling of the newspaper cannot be heard above the crumbling of a bombed out street, I …

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Fractured before we are born. Shattered, maybe crazed at the end. In between all is light and luminaria, except in …

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Today is a wish, or a halfhearted promise of escape from the contrived hopes that scaffold my vision. In the …

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In this edgeless weather the light blunts to grey. If not for lovers and birds the day would seem a …

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