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     diary at! contact me older entries newest entry The gilded songbird always looks so plain.

2008-04-07 - 11:38 p.m.

I let the tangles
of my hair hang down
I want to cousin it my shit
hope is at a premium
and all I've got is loose change.
All I have left is room
for regular.

There are holes besides
the ones in my head,
a well in which we fell

Burn the wicker wood,
take the cross off the wall
and melt it down
Watch and look at it
as the transformative liquid
it will become.
take a fire pit
to the memories
and watch them fizzle
and burn down
like the cheap
like the youth
that you must discard
and someday
just tell
the stories
and let them go
like the gray and white plumes
of the originals
and set them free.

You are them,
but they don't have to be

It's fire
and it's nature
and it's going to burn.

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