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Old men are more interesting
with their souls painted...
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I am Tabula Rasa.
A mechanical projector of the environment...
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She splashes her face
with numbing water...
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Once upon a time - in a garden flourishing
with jasmines, magnolias, daisies, and all sort...
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Churches lined in a row
up and down city streets...
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Okay, have you ever seen a blank page?
The type that doesn't even have lines...
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O rain, O rain, who ever often greets my days,
And in my garden, showers joy upon my flowers...
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I haven't written in a long time,
atleast not like this, I dip in the poems...
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This thirst reminds me
of winter...
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These rocky mountains are now hers;
flowers - subtle myths of childhood...
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As I lie here half forgotten
by the ones I used to know...
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His words were poetry.
Every ebb and flow...