“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
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No posts with label soar. Show all posts
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Half-dozen Mud cakes
Back to wood decks, quarter-size spiders, webs, moss and creatures stirring in the hollow nights Back to no side-walks and skirting into th...
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1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
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I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
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Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...