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“…and the wound was a place of shelter for...
You sincerely ask. You speak the grief I’ve been...
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I wake up to the cracked
whites of the ceiling...
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behind a smiling
Entrepreneur lay in wait...
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I almost want to cry,
in relief, in acceptance...
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Yo de curioso,
te mire tus ojos...
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On the way back home, I crack
my memory open to rehearse the stories...
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The night bathes the forest in red
And the leaves gnaw at tired old bones...
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I walk
As if...
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With holes in our hearts
It's strange how we still manage...
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It was raining.
Wind was straining...
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Who is this guy, hiding in me,
who is so drowned in himself...
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When the truth is not lonely!
When the truthful is not one and only...