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I’m a Tree

I’m a tree,  growing inside  a prison made of glass.  I’m the only one in the…

Run Through Me

A dark room within, a couple of ravens,The door cackling through this prison.If I turn around…

Vile Swine

Mid-July, when the summer got cool,And the seraphs’ve gone cruel,At night, at night. Puddles dot the…

Poetry For the Epilogue

Bertram Fitzgerald never found out I wrote him poetry. Across the street, Bertram would work at…

He’s Right Behind You

We’d go out around one. Climbing through bedroom windows, we’d try to land softly on bushes…

I Don’t Trust Gin

I don’t trust ginit really winds me upit grinds my gearsand never fails to half-empty my…

yes

the problem child is an enemy of glassall of the breaks and chips and scrapes and…

The Enemy Of Glass

yesthe problem child is an enemy of glassunless it was yours toowouldn’t the chains on the…

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