I am 50. A Flaccid birthday balloon floating at eye level casually descends back to the earth to die. These poems pull me to the ground like gravity. Crude strings of syllables torn from the flesh of time.
Birthday
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I am 50. A Flaccid birthday balloon floating at eye level casually descends back to the earth to die. These poems pull me to the ground like gravity. Crude strings of syllables torn from the flesh of time.
by
Tags:
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