October 5, 2012


words floating

over my head

as I move

putting it together

over my head

feels better suited

nothing can be

written for long

erase a few


And she did


turn 31



till the end breaks

the hours bleed out


for hours

to suit

I can toast

burn in bed


I claim to

feel it so much

took to it

pressed down

on it

she knew

the rest

in-between breaths

I struggle for air

my poem-words

I hum along

to them


another night in the lonesome October.


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