i am dry like the sun
i am loud as the deepest depth of silence
Sunday, February 7, 2010
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It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white
camellias.
Weeps arrow without
target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords
Lorca-Guitar-
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