Tag: Art

When the War Ended

It’s a sad story, the drowning man in a cloud of fists the first thing in morning woken thinking of yesterday and swinging wide like a boxer finds the finish when he splays on the mat, hair absurd and wet for just a fight in his memories of fire and rush of the way the sun shocked when he woke…

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Who We Are

There are too many versions of self lost from many iterations/ I seeping in tender aggression over it/ I, containing all echoes resounds and thinks in-between such things where associations flow without influence: I wonder if the truth is there same like a stem makes a leaf makes a tree in infinitum ‘the way of the way:’ waves rising out…

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