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    Wednesday, May 26, 2010

    Dark side of the moon

    These holes my friends have dug
    The craters they have filled after the bombs went off
    The ripped and torn roads that his nails left in my back just looking to be traveled
    Warm and full of safe fire
    But fire ends where an ocean begins
    I always find my ocean current tongue at high tide with you. The moon has to reciprocate some time…he can’t just pull and pull forever, can he? How many words can the current give before there is no more left?

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